Childhood Dreams
by Neocolai
Summary: Meddling with time is a dangerous feat. When Dumbledore sends Newt back to his school years to find a cure for the blood pact, Theseus tags along to make sure the past remains untouched. An affectionate, unfettered version of his little brother might change his mind about improving the future. Genfic
1. Chapter 1

_This story is a charity commission for John Smith, who specifically wanted a story where Theseus and Newt go back in time to interact with a younger Newt during his school years. Granted, time-travel of that sort isn't technically possible, but for the purpose of the story I've studied the rules and potential consequences of time turners and merged them with the given prompt to make this story as realistic as possible. Some context was drawn from The Cursed Child, in which Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy demonstrated how one might meddle with time._

 **Disclaimer** : Neocolai does not own Fantastic Beasts or anything related to J.K. Rowling's work. Credit for this story's inspiration goes to John Smith, who talked through the idea with me and helped create this lovely piece of fluff and angst.

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The old classroom, with its scarred desks and wooden floor worn down by hundreds of pairs of black shoes, was exactly like Theseus remembered. A film of chalk dust sifted past the windows, drifting down to coat every surface. Patches of wan sunlight, scattered amidst the heavy clouds of autumn, illuminated shelves that were stuffed with tattered second-hand books and empty cages. There were still notes on the blackboards from the morning's class.

Transfiguration had always been Newt's most troublesome subject, as Theseus recalled from his brother's O.W.L.S. It was ironic that Dumbledore had asked them to meet here instead of the comfortable simplicity of his own classroom. One more way to put Newt ill at ease (as if the company of a certain late Headmaster's portrait wasn't enough).

"I will have it known that I disagree with this reprehensible plan," the portrait of Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black objected. _Had_ _been_ objecting since Theseus entered the room. "Not only is it dangerous and corruptive to past generations; it is a mockery of the history which spawned this era. We all live by our mistakes. I think it is a fool who meddles with his own past."

"Yes, thank you, Professor Black," Dumbledore said tolerantly, ignoring the portrait's bushy-browed scowl. "I am well aware of the risks, as is young Mister Scamander."

"Posh! _Mister_ _Scamander_ couldn't find his own classroom half the time. I still believe this errand will come to ruin."

"Theseus," Dumbledore greeted with a grievous sigh, nodding to a chair. "Late Headmaster Black, as I'm sure you know. I apologize for the sudden notice and the secrecy."

"It wasn't an illuminating report," Theseus agreed vaguely, choosing to stand beside one of the tables. He nodded acknowledgment to his brother, who was slouched in a chair across from him, his suitable wool coat exchanged for that outrageous blue piece that warranted the attention of every auror serving under Grindelwald. Newt looked as reluctant as Theseus to be conversing with the least favorite Headmaster of their time.

"The Ministry might have lifted some of my restrictions, but I'm still under close watch," Dumbledore explained. "Some things are too dangerous to be leaked to Grindelwald's followers."

"Which is why you called for Newt and myself," Theseus said carefully. In part it made sense; Newt had been a favorite lately for Dumbledore's little errands. This was the first time Theseus had been invited into their co-conspiracy.

"Actually, he asked me," Newt piped in. As always he responded passively, restrictive with his wording, but the adamancy in his voice leaked through. "Dumbledore wants me to undertake this mission."

"It's imperative against Grindelwald," Dumbledore said, beginning to pace idly, a silver chain swinging from his fist. "I need a certain manuscript from the restricted section of Hogwart's library. The book was lost for some time and several pages were torn out - a careless student, I don't doubt. Without those pages I cannot hope to destroy this."

He held out his palm, presenting a key-like pendant on a slender chain. Eyeing it critically, Theseus shrugged. "A family artifact?"

"Of a sort," Dumbledore conceded. "More precisely, a token: an oath between Grindelwald and myself that we would never challenge one another in combat."

"A blood pact," Theseus realized, stiffening against the edge of the table. "It's absolutely unbreakable. That's why you sent Newt to apprehend him."

Crossly he glanced at his brother, reminded once again of the peril Dumbledore had placed him in by sending him to find Credence. Alone. _We still have to talk about that,_ he communicated with a stern glare.

Shifting uncomfortably, Newt elaborated, "Dumbledore thinks that the lost pages of the manuscript could help him dismantle his part of the pact, without harm to either participant. He wants me to find them."

"So what then - search the library?" Theseus challenged. "Any secretary could do that."

"The pages were lost long ago," Dumbledore said. "I need someone to find them before nineteen-eleven."

Appalled, Theseus stressed, "Nineteen-eleven? The _year?_ " He looked between the professor and Newt and huffed. "You're jesting. You're proposing time travel? It's impossible."

"On the contrary, time-turners are a tested and proven convenience often used by the Ministry itself," Dumbledore said pointedly.

"For imperative business and diplomatic courtesy only _,_ " Theseus corrected. "You can't just play around with time. The consequences are unthinkable! You can't be seen, you can't meddle outside of your time sphere, and you cannot correct a wrong."

A deep matter he pondered on often, for the inability to retrieve the lost plagued him night and day. But the truth remained. For the sake of the future, one dare not alter the past.

"I'm fully aware of the procedures, Mister Scamander," Dumbledore said. "However, I'm not asking Newt to jeopardize time. All I need is a copy of _Blood Bonds and Boundaries_. Professor Black and I have written a letter to be given to the current headmaster. The book was accounted for early in the semester, and has since been removed from its place. Newt will go undercover for whatever time frame is necessary to find the lost manuscript, retrieve the pages, and leave before the term is over."

Aghast, Theseus laughed derisively. "Before the term is over? You must think that you have all of time at your disposal! The time-turner only permits its user to stay for five hours in any given period. Any longer of a stay could jeopardize the past _and_ the present."

"Yes, but improvements to this model have managed to stabilize the time sphere," Newt said, picking intently at a strip of leather peeling from his case. "Interaction in a similar timeline is possible for extended periods, so long as nothing imperative is changed."

Shrewdly Theseus regarded his brother. "You've tested it," he realized. Hissing between his teeth, he shook his head. "You've already tested it and you didn't even consult me - "

"I knew what you would say," Newt interrupted. "I know the risks, Theseus. If destroying the blood pact can stop Grindelwald - "

"You don't get it, do you?" Theseus stressed. "You think that because Dumbledore proposes some _grand scheme_ then it's perfectly justifiable for you to break the rules? How many times do you think you can get away with it before the Ministry deems you too unruly to handle? Do you think I want to see you in Azkaban?"

The mere mention of the unspeakable prison made Newt flinch. Good. Maybe he would think more carefully about his exploits in the future. Sighing, Theseus leaned back against his perch. When would his brother learn that he wasn't obligated to answer to every whim of his favorite professor? Dumbledore could find another messenger. He couldn't replace _Newt_.

"If you need the papers so badly, why don't you fetch them yourself?" Theseus challenged Dumbledore.

The professor had the grace to look uncomfortable. "I'm already a professor in my given position. Two adults in the same timeline, investigating the same school? The effects would be dynamic. Newt is young; his timeline is still flexible. As long as he's careful, it shouldn't affect him."

"And if you're wrong?" Theseus said thinly. Darkly. A strip of ice over black water, threatening the ambler to tread carefully.

"I've already accepted the position," Newt said quietly.

Swinging around, Theseus fixed him with an agitated glare. "What?"

"I've spoken with the Headmaster of the time," Newt said. "We've been corresponding back and forth; testing the time-turner for inconsistencies. He's given me a position for the Spring Term. Pest control - nothing complex. I borrowed a few nifflers to infest the kitchens."

Gaping, Theseus looked rapidly between his brother and the portrait of Phineas Black. "You _infested_ Hogwarts with nifflers?"

"They're harmless!" Newt hastily defended. "A bit mischievous, granted, but only when shiny objects are involved."

"Nifflers. In the kitchen." Scoffing, Theseus nodded towards a copy of the Daily Prophet. "Should I be checking the news columns for a historical article?"

"Time is still fluctuating," Newt said solemnly. "It takes a while to catch up."

Theseus shrugged. "It's been over a decade since nineteen-eleven."

"Nineteen-ten," Newt corrected, "And I'm not finished there yet. Aside from the nifflers, nothing has been altered."

"Nifflers are hardly a newsworthy article," Dumbledore added.

"I'll be hired as a pest controller to round them up," Newt continued. "It will take me some time, of course, which will give me plenty of opportunity to research the library."

"When you're not looking after your brood and crawling under pantry shelves," Theseus said satirically. "How much spare time do you think you'll have?"

Though he flushed, Newt held his ground. "Enough," he said elusively. "I have until the end of term."

"It's preposterous. _You're_ insane," Theseus said directly to Dumbledore. "It'll never work."

"At least I gave you fair warning this time," Newt said breezily.

The cool authority in his voice was too much. The upstart brat thought he knew everything, didn't he? "And what makes you think you're going unsupervised?" Theseus said icily.

Ah, the grim set to the jaw that signified a sullen Newt. He knew the implications, all right. "I can do very well on my own, Theseus."

"With a stolen time-turner, no doubt." Rising from the table, Theseus ambled towards his brother, focusing his argument on Dumbledore's nonfamilial reasoning. "Stolen Ministry property, which makes this Ministry business. Unless you want an official report and an investigation, I suggest you provide _Mister Scamander_ with a suitable escort; both to assist with his research and to see that the timeline is minimally influenced. With a niffler infestation in place, the Ministry will require a Health and Safety Inspection to ensure the good health of the students."

"I believe young Theseus Scamander is an intern at the Ministry at this time," Dumbledore said, his eyes glinting with cheek. "It would be conservative of both time and resources to send a novice to do the legwork."

"Young Mister Scamander would already need to be out of the office," Theseus warned.

"On a diplomatic tour," Dumbledore said breezily. "In Paris, consulting with the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France on ways to improve the efficiency and communication of their paperwork division."

"I don't remember that either," Theseus said flatly.

"Time is still fluctuating," Dumbledore assured. "You haven't been to Paris yet, after all. Certain events take longer to catch up; that should give you time to correct any mistakes."

"Relatively speaking," Newt interjected. "It's still a linear timestream; we can't re-enter the timeline once we've become imprinted on it."

"Imagine twenty-odd Newt Scamanders running through Hogwarts in synchronization," Dumbledore mused.

The thought was terrifying.

"When do we leave?" Theseus said resignedly. For Newt would not be travelling on his own. Not this time, with so much at stake.

From the smothered delight in Dumbledore's eyes, he had been planning on Theseus' participation all the while. A pox on the man.

"As soon as your position is assured," the professor answered. "We'll have official papers drawn up and delivered to the Headmaster. Professor Black has dictated the letters which will convince his younger self of the necessity of your mission. You won't be questioned."

"In and out, no trouble," Theseus said dourly. Newt was determinedly avoiding his eyes. _You can't ignore me that easily, Newton,_ Theseus vowed. _As soon as the professor leaves the room, you and I are going to have a little chat._

His first assignment as a proper inspector from the Ministry would be documenting _how many_ creatures Newt intended to afflict upon his old school grounds. There had to be a limit as to how many pilferers were permitted to roam unfettered in a public building. Knowing Newt, he'd let the scruffy, filthy vermin _breed_ inside of the castle!

Regardless of Dumbledore's manipulation, Theseus accepted that he had no choice but to accompany Newt on this nefarious quest. Someone had to keep his brother's wiley pests under control.

And bring the Pest himself back home again.

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*Note - The book Dumbledore mentioned ( _Blood Bonds and Boundaries)_ is absolutely noncanon. Sadly, there is little to be said about books in the Restricted Section of the library and this author had to create something for the script.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to JH, Frank, LaughUrHeartOut, XYZ Artemis, AndurilofTolkein, Mordmil, Bundibird, and John Smith for your overwhelming responses to the first chapter! It's made me very happy, seeing all the comments and suggestions. (And prompts! I love prompts!)**

 **In answer to LaughUrHeartOut's question, the current update schedule is every Monday.**

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Footsteps sure, Theseus rattled down the cedar steps into his brother's case, aware that his presence was both unwanted and ignored. Pausing in the ramshackle shed (a space he was becoming more familiar with the longer Newt stayed in London), he stole a moment to observe his brother's natural surroundings.

Messy. He wasn't surprised. Newt had never been tidy, but at least he had learned to organize the important things. There were plenty of bins and barrels about, all solidly clamped to keep the animals from nosing inside and gorging themselves to death. Bottles of potions and remedies were clustered according to their purpose and properly labeled. Scattered papers were in danger of sliding off the table, describing in a brisk, short-handed scrawl exactly _how_ one might go about impersonating a pest controller. Theseus shuffled the papers together and placed them to the right of a mound of fresh willow bark shavings. Curious. He didn't recall any creature that required a steady diet of the common analgesic.

Returning to his original purpose, Theseus gingerly stepped around the massive paws of the zouwu lounging by the doorway and ducked into the sunlight of his brother's creation. The commotion within was no less disturbing than the first time he had snuck downstairs. Rumbling prowlers, thudding prancers, lowing herbivores and chittering rodents produced a squawking, clamorous atmosphere that was not unlike a room filled with aurors squabbling over their Christmas bonuses. Animals, however, could not be shut up with a mere silencing charm. The noise alone would have driven Theseus to the surface had he occupied himself with tending such oddities.

Despite his concerns about penning so many dangerous creatures together, Theseus admired how well his brother had contained them. Each beast had its own habitat, separated by invisible barriers which deterred the natural predators from hunting the gentle scavengers, yet allowed the harmless species to mingle. Fresh water sources and selective fauna ensured that only the predators needed regular feedings. Foliage provided shelter, regulated atmospheres divided rainforest and desert climates, and spelled air pockets assured circulated oxygen even while the case was shut. Truly, Newt had thought of everything for his little conservation project.

The magizoologist himself was occupied in the center of his grassland habitat, surrounded by a cluster of graphorns that were brushing against him to the point of being accused of _snuggling_. Theseus frowned, observing the smallest calf lapping at the raw juices dripping from Newt's hands. Encouraging a predator to associate humans with feeding time, no matter how sedentary the creature's lifestyle, was the first step to breeding malevolent beasts. _Mankillers_. Newt knew better.

"I suppose you'll be teaching the zouwu to jump through a hoop next," Theseus drawled, keeping well clear of a scuttling dung beetle. He caught the instant Newt's shoulders braced, preparing for a squall. "Don't let me ruffle your fur, Newt," he said tartly, copying his brother's tactics by devoting his attention to a swinging family of bowtruckles. "You and Dumbledore sorted this long ago. I'm simply a tagalong joining you for the ride."

"You didn't have to follow me, Theseus," Newt said tightly. It was the same tone Theseus had grown accustomed to over the years. There was always something left unsaid when Newt was talking.

He envisioned the interpretation, matching it with the dissociation in his brother's voice. It's _not your fault that you're on the Ministry council that revoked my license._ _You're an auror; you're expected to report me for any infarction of the law. Since you've become London's hero, everyone expects you to set an example, even to your own family._

Sometimes he wished his relationship with his brother didn't have to be so complicated.

Sighing, Theseus leaned against a rickety, crooked aspen, fingering a sprig of yellowing leaves. "You know I worry about you, Newt."

Years of silence had taught him not to expect a reply.

"You're just like Mum. You're both impetuous and headstrong." Snapping off the dying twig, Theseus flicked it aside. "You think it's any easier, watching her risk herself every day around hippogriffs, and then you with all of these…."

Waving his hands at the assortment of monsters, any one of which could kill a man before he could draw his wand, Theseus shook his head and stepped away from the tree, ambling closer to the graphorn herd. One step at a time. Nonlethal. Harmless.

Newt had worked around beasts long enough to recognize a sidelong approach. Giving the graphorn matron one last pat, he scooped up the empty bucket and shambled back to the hut, giving Theseus a wide berth.

"Sorry, haven't the time to discuss things right now," he mumbled halfheartedly. "Still need to settle things before departure. I haven't told Bunty I'm leaving…."

"Newt!" Setting his teeth, Theseus loped after the family escapist, quickening his pace as Newt lengthened his own strides. _Must it always be this way – you running the moment I've caught sight of you?_ "Newt, would you stop avoiding me and _listen_ for once!"

"I don't need to hear any more, Theseus," Newt protested, cutting him off as sharply as a dragon sweeping aside an egg snatcher. "I'm sorry about Leta. I'm sorry about your aurors. You can't keep me tucked away because you're afraid of losing any more. I promised Jacob I'd find a way to stop Grindelwald and bring Queenie home. I won't disappoint him."

Skittering inside the hovel door, Theseus stared aghast at his brother. "You're doing this for a _muggle?_ "

Newt swiveled around and faced him with the sheer gall he had grown to admire and loathe. "He's not just a muggle. And yes. It's my fault Queenie ran off with Grindelwald. I frightened her away by forcing her to lift the enchantment from Jacob. If Dumbledore can destroy the blood pact, then Grindelwald can be destroyed - ergo, I owe it to my friend to track down the missing pages."

Dismayed, Theseus leaned against the doorway and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Newt Artemis Fido, no one blames you for Grindelwald's crimes; least of all _me._ Leta…." Swallowing against a tumultuous wave that he thought was securely locked away, Theseus emphasized, " _Nothing_ was your fault. If anything, it was the Ministry to blame for not executing Grindelwald before he could escape. We had evidence enough to forego the trial."

"People still died," Newt murmured, tossing fresh meat into the pail.

" _You're_ still here." Watching his brother, daring him to look up, Theseus waited until hazel eyes darted his way before saying softly, "I'm still here, Newt. You're all I have left to protect. Why won't you let me?"

Guilt splashed across Newt's face before he hauled up the bucket and bungled past Theseus, always bustling about, avoiding everything that caused him turmoil. "Wood lice are by the stove," he mumbled, pausing one moment to study the ground, watching out of the corner of his eye to see if he would be followed. "The bowtruckles will have to be fed first."

Shaking his head at the sheer audacity of the Scamander line, Theseus ducked into the shed to grab the small tin. Newt didn't linger for him to catch up, but he didn't scurry away as Theseus followed. As indirect and frustrating as it was, he had answered in his own distracted way that he would capitulate to his brother's whims, exasperating as it might be, and allow Theseus to mollycoddle him _this once_.

It was an opportunity Theseus rarely saw these days. Energizing his strides to keep up, he paused by the crooked aspen and cranked open the tin of wood lice, tolerating Newt's fervent insistence that he scatter it _just so_ instead of dumping the lot over the tree roots. For once his little brother was agreeing to let him accompany him on one of his harrowing adventures. Though Theseus would rather strangle Dumbledore with his own time-turner rather than allow Newt to set foot in the past, he had to embrace the positive aspect that someone would travel alongside his brother besides a muggle or an auror with a revoked license. Better that someone w _ithin_ the Ministry keep an eye on Newt than someone who would report him to the authorities the moment he stepped back into his time.

Theseus had no desire to see his brother put away for life.

He just wished that Newt would believe him.

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An intern's disguise was not difficult to arrange. A new suit in dark brown, softening the lines of strain around his eyes. Shoes with hard soles to mimic the uneasy clop of a young man who was still growing used to his height. Theseus let his hair frizz as it willed. Although he had been more careful with his appearance during his initial years at the Ministry, the untempered curls gave the allusion to an overworked intern trying to manage the menial jobs and triplicate forms thrust upon him by every "important" wizard above his station.

His papers had been forged: mundane references to questionable food handling and unsafe equipment - so innocuous that it was almost worth handing down to the muggle department. Perfect busy work for the intern who was always underfoot. In all appearances Theseus was an inexperienced upstart, jumping on the first opportunity to leave the office, who just so happened to be assigned to the very school where his brother was enrolled. No one would ask any questions if he encountered a younger version of Newt.

He only hoped that a child's past was as "malleable" as Dumbledore claimed. If it was up to him, he'd just as soon not interfere with Newt's Hogwarts experience. It would be undesirable for any older brother to intrude on an otherwise pleasant year.

"Do you have the letter?" Theseus asked, tucking his papers into his pocket as he watched Newt repack his trunk for the second time. Honestly, was it possible for anyone to be so absent-minded about whether or not he had packed socks? (Never mind that Theseus had felt compelled to remind him. How ever had Newt survived New York on his own?)

"On the desk," Newt said distractedly, snapping his wand to quick-fold several stiff-collared shirts. Ah, the dull confines of a profession. He wouldn't be sauntering around in an unkempt tie and too-short trousers now.

Smoothing the creased from the official document dictating his brother's imaginary profession, Theseus examined it for credibility and inaccuracies. His eyebrows flew high as he skimmed the first lines again.

"Artemis Caecillian?"

"Yes, that's my name," Newt said without pause. "The headmaster and I agreed that it would be easier to uphold the story if truth was intermingled with it."

"Did Professor Black also conspire the surname?" Theseus said flatly.

This time Newt faltered amidst his bustling, confused. "He did supply the cover story."

"And he chose Caecillian," Theseus stated, casting down the document. "That certainly reflects his opinion regarding our little trip back. Nearly two decades past and he still hates his job."

"Caecillian is an honorable class of amphibian," Newt defended in the same bewildered tone. "They're climacteric for replenishing nutrients in the soil. Without them horticulture would be impossible."

"It's a worm, Newt," Theseus established. "Present or past, Black is making it clear that he doesn't want our interference."

Hardly flummoxed, Newt shrugged and looped a tie over his collar, spell-tweaking it into a trim knot. The blue suit lent an elegance to his gangly height, although the bright color was appalling in the professional field. One more argument in which Little Brother's stubbornness had trumped over sound reason.

"Are you all ready, then?" Theseus prodded, pretending to scrutinize his watch while secretly hoping that Newt would be rushed enough to forget that drab excuse for a house scarf.

"Yes, that's everything." Snatching up the knit monstrosity (didn't Mother ever teach him how to dress properly?), Newt snapped his trunk shut and checked the locks on his case before nodding to Theseus in satisfaction.

"How many creatures are in there?" Theseus asked, folding his arms in the practiced stance of a pompous, weaselly inspector.

Finally Newt lost his confident facade. "I can't leave them here, you know that," he insisted, flushing as he apparated his trunk ahead of them. "They won't be any trouble. Animals don't make conscientious decisions to affect time. Of course, I had to send Bunty on holiday. She couldn't possibly stay in the suitcase while ..."

"Bunty?" Theseus echoed, a crafty grin abolishing his stuffy air. "And here I thought you were into brunettes."

"It's not like that, and _no_ , Theseus," Newt prattled, pushing hastily past his brother as though to lose him on the staircase. "There's nothing to assume. You've got it all wrong."

"Wrong?" Grabbing the handrails on both sides, Theseus swung down the short flight to land in step with his brother. "Didn't I hear you saying something about salamanders last night?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You're blushing!" Theseus exclaimed. "And to think I assumed it was a mere fancy! Tell me, when is Miss Salamander-Eyes going to grace the Ministry with another fiasco in the vaults?"

Ah, he had his brother on the run! Trotting to keep up, Theseus gave Newt a wide enough berth that he wouldn't apparate and ruin the fun. He used to chase the little scamp, he recalled, back before Hogwarts boggled Newt with illustrious dreams, and all he wanted to be was a hippogriff escaping a nundu. Such were the simpler days. It felt good to be pursuing his brother for the sheer joy of being a pest again. No laws to be broken. No lines to be crossed. Wands tucked away without a second thought. Just two brothers shoving each other around, racing to reach the shadowed bridge first, where Professor Dumbledore waited for them.

Just like it used to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to John Smith, XYZArtemis, and LaughUrHeartOut for reviewing last chapter! Always encouraging to hear a little feedback on the storyline.**

 **LaughUrHeartOut, I won't give any spoilers but in regards to your prompt list I think you're going to love this story. ;)**

 **Cheers y'all!**

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As ever, Dumbledore's rigid stance was softened to the point of mockery, for he couldn't withhold the amused gleam in his eyes as Theseus and Newt skittered to a halt just shy of the bridge. Huffing, the two straightened immediately, Theseus brushing down his suit, Newt strolling up to the professor as though he raced his housemates down Hogwart's hallowed halls every afternoon after class. Perhaps he had in those days.

"You have everything you need?" Dumbledore asked, nodding to indicate the two trunks on his left. "It's a one way trip; we can't have the both of you jaunting back and forth for a pair of cufflinks."

"How many times did you 'jaunt back and forth' when you were experimenting before?" Theseus directed to Newt.

"I didn't waste any trips," Newt said, setting his case down beside his trunk. "I spoke with Headmaster Black and positioned the nifflers."

"You did well. We wouldn't have sent either of you back without knowing for sure," Dumbledore assured, as sympathetic as always for his renegade pupils. Theseus rolled his eyes.

"You said you had necessary parcels for us," he said, smoothing his expression the moment Dumbledore turned towards him.

"Ah, yes." Pulling an umber pouch from his pocket, Dumbledore shook some of the contents into his hand. Metal clinked into his palm, the measured quantity insinuating that the pouch had more depth than met the eye. "Keep these away from the niffler. The currency is all dated for the appropriate era." Fishing out a ring of iron keys, he tossed it to Theseus. "These should give you access to any corridor barred to the students. Try not to let any beasts loose in the halls; most children don't know how to fend off a nundu."

"Newt, tell me you didn't pack that," Theseus said, leveling his brother with a weary stare.

The magizoologist only sighed. "I locked the case."

"Which worked so well in New York - "

"Another time, boys," Dumbledore intervened, beckoning for Newt to join them. He slid a golden chain off of his neck, offering the time-turner to the younger Scamander. "We expanded the passage of time for this one. Each turn will take you back about six months. Thirty-four turns should take you to about - "

"Early March, nineteen-ten," Newt interjected softly. "It's been consistent every time."

"Excellent. The headmaster is awaiting your arrival. You'll find the portkey under the bridge; it'll take you just outside of Hogwarts' borders. Touch it a second time and it will return itself to Professor Black's headquarters. He'll send an escort immediately after you arrive."

"What sort of portkey?" Theseus asked, grunting as he hefted his own trunk and his brother's upright. Luggage without shrinking charms was tosh when one had to cling to it during a journey, and as likely as not he would also be holding on to Newt's case while the time-turner was finagled. This mission was destined for disaster.

"A household object that no one would bother stealing," Newt said too quickly. "I think you'll have to hold my case."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Theseus grumbled, tucking it under his arm and craning to hang on to the trunk handles. "Whoever said that shrinkage charms were nullified by time-travel - "

"That was Headmaster Black's warning," Newt clarified. "Wouldn't want a thirty-pound object ripping straight through your suit pocket."

"I knew he was taking us for fools!" Theseus exclaimed, just before his brother deftly flicked the time-turner and the surrounding mist dematerialized into a thin stream of golden dust. Clinging to their luggage as Dumbledore walked backwards and vanished, Theseus watched the world replay around him, the images fluttering faster and faster, eroding through phases of fashion and modernism, until the mist turned into a cold rain and he and Newt stood alone under the bridge, ducking into the alcove as automobile lights from the Knight Bus careened overhead.

"Right. Here we are," Newt said, snatching up his case and leaving Theseus to drag the trunks as he scampered to the darkest corner of the overhang. "I told Dumbledore no one would steal it."

Dragging to a halt, Theseus stared. "Well, at least we know we're unwanted," he snarked. What a fine welcome in an already rubbish adventure.

"I think it's safe to conceal those now," Newt said, daft to his brother's response as he jabbed his wand at the trunks and whipped them into pocket-sized miniatures.

"Newt, he's taking you for a loon and you've let him!" Theseus protested. "This was your grand plan? We could've ridden on the bloody train for all the hospitality he's offered us!"

Lips clamped shut in forced patience, Newt breathed slowly through his nose before stating, "I discussed everything with the headmaster beforehand. We can't be seen outside of the school - least of all you when you're supposed to be in France. If we can enter and leave unnoticed we'll cause less disturbance to the timeline. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"This," Theseus insisted, waving to what was nothing less than an antique chamber pot, "Is not an entrance worthy of a house elf. I wouldn't _wish_ this upon a house elf! Do you suppose he made one of his students scrub it before sending it here, or is it still full of - "

"Theseus!" Scandalized by the proposition, Newt seized his tiny trunk and stalked to the portkey, stuffing the time-turner under his shirt. "Regardless of the headmaster's opinion, Dumbledore needs us to retrieve those pages and I won't let him down. Are you coming or not?"

"This is ridiculous," Theseus groaned, reluctantly joining his brother. "Just ... touch the handle or something, and wash your hands after. Oh, move aside..."

Cringing at the thought of touching such a vile object, he gingerly poked out one finger and touched it in sync with his brother's firm grip. The bridge spiraled momentarily, righting into a stone wall guarded by winged boars. Casting himself away from the portkey, Theseus flicked his hands agitatedly and wiped them on his suit. "Why on earth did I use that man as a reference for my Ministry application?"

Tapping the chamber pot's lid, Newt sent it away to its owner and rearranged his scarf, brushing pine needles and gravel off of his trousers. "Think of it this way," he said blithely. "Whatever the message implied, he still has to receive it in his office to know we've arrived. Perish the thought of Professor Dumbledore seeing it appear on his desk."

"Or one of the students," Theseus mused. Catching his brother's eye, he buckled into a sniggering fit and bumped Newt's shoulder as the younger wizard snickered. "Bad manners do tend to reflect on their owners," he fancied. "Perhaps he'll be called the Headmaster of the Pot ten years from now."

The thought was too much for both of them, and it was a notably befuddled groundskeeper who found them leaning against the gates, quite out of breath with mirth. Shoving ahead of his brother, Theseus rearranged his expression and said in a voice devoid of emotion, "The Ministry has deployed us in response to the recent infestation in Hogwarts' kitchens."

Scowling at the implications of a shoddy, impudent inspector, the groundskeeper muttered something unintelligible and reached through the bars. "Papers?"

"Theseus Scamander, Auror," Theseus said, proffering a crisp, starched envelope.

"And a letter of reference," Newt intercepted, pulling out his own forms. "Artemis Caecillan; Pest Advisory Board. Headmaster Black is expecting us."

"I heard about _you_ ," the groundskeeper replied. "But we don't need Ministry posh poking around here. I tend these grounds and I say there's no need for an inspection."

"Then perhaps you can explain the need for a pest controller," Theseus parried. "I won't waste the afternoon dawdling. Open this gate at once or your name shall be the first mentioned on my official report."

The groundskeeper's gnarly nose curled up, giving him the appearance of a screech-owl choking on a bone. "As you wish, Mister Scamander," he said disdainfully, pulling open the gate and shoving Theseus' papers under his nose. In retrospect, Theseus considered that there had been a number of incidences whereupon his graduation had brought immense satisfaction and relief to a certain Keeper of Keys and Grounds.

"Thank you, Pugg," he said, tucking the papers into his coat and strolling past the groundskeeper with the same blithe cheer that had swept him past a few _incidents_ that even Peeves couldn't replicate. Ah, the memories associated with this old school. He mused on past antics with his classmates, when they pranced about with a gall that would outmatch the Slytherins, but the thought was tainted with the acknowledgment that so many who had accompanied him to the Ministry were now ashes strew across the Lestrange tomb. Davey, Torres, Harris... If only there was a way to salvage their futures as well.

He almost fancied that Newt's response was equally lackluster, like a landlubber approaching a vessel at high tide, as his brother took a deep breath and deliberately set foot upon his old stomping grounds.

* * *

The hollow tick of the silver clock on the headmaster's desk, marking the seconds pining away, was no less ominous now than it had been in Theseus' tenuous years. Phineas Nigellus Black, later renowned as one of the most begrudging headmasters in Hogwarts' history, wrinkled his formidably large nose in disapproval as he examined Theseus' forms. Papers that he had transcribed himself, if Newt's reassurances were accurate.

Patting down Pickett as the bowtruckle peeked out of his lapel pocket, Newt leaned back idly, only to snap back to attention as the ancient chair frame creaked. Scruffy, greying eyebrows flew upward as keen eyes scrutinized the source of commotion.

"Sorry," Newt mumbled.

Softly Theseus huffed. Regardless of the headmaster's gruff, peckish mannerism, there was little to fear from the man. Respect, timeliness, and a hint of cunning had encouraged the old Slytherin to overlook many of Theseus' more noteworthy escapades.

"You'll find everything in order," he said calmly, coaxing the headmaster to speed up the process.

"That may be," Black said skeptically. "However, it appears that I have failed to elaborate your part in this matter." He tapped the letter to his right, dictated by his own portrait and transcribed by Albus Dumbledore, professor of the Dark Arts in nineteen twenty-seven. "Tell me, Mister Scamander, what is it that you intend to do in Hogwarts?"

Scoffing at the superfluous implications, Theseus answered, "Look for an old, obviously misplaced textbook. Pose as an inspector to conceal my true purpose. Keep my brother out of trouble."

Though Black looked scarcely convinced, his eyebrows settled the moment Newt was mentioned. "Indeed."

Clearing his throat, he said in a more amiable tone, "Now see here, young man, your position here is merely a ruse. I will not have one word relayed to the Ministry regarding your findings - planted or otherwise. You will keep your thoughts to yourself and you will not trouble any of my staff. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly," Theseus replied mildly.

"Yes sir," Newt chimed in.

Casting his brother a dour look, Theseus minutely shook his head. There was no need for Newt to concern himself; it was quite obvious whom the headmaster was addressing. There was an unspoken knowledge that the professors had hosted a small, private celebration after his seventh year had ended.

"You will not conspire heresy with my students," Black continued. "Your positions are a mere formality. I want no interference in the classrooms. There will be no monsters roaming the halls. All nifflers will be corralled and confined by the end of your stay. I shall have no dilly-dallying dreams of the future, no questions regarding the current texts, and no infiltration of your generation's ideals. You will do your work and disappear, and no one will know the difference. Am I clear?"

"Indubitably," Theseus said with just the right touch of deference.

"Yes, Headmaster," Newt responded a breath faster.

"Very well then." Eyebrows crinkling like two crow wings, Black looked down his prolific nose and nodded once. "Welcome to Hogwarts... Mister Scamander... Mister Caecilian. I trust you can see yourselves to the door."

The dismissal was more cordial than Theseus had anticipated. He remembered more than a few parting declarations of, "See that you behave yourself or I'll knot your tie to your broom and send your rascally hide home before the holidays!" Perhaps the prospect of his portrait giving advise to future headmasters had mollified Black's griping for one day. Or perhaps the accumulation of years and Theseus' perseverance as Head Auror had bequeathed its own success, accrediting his typical slip-around-the-door approach with an air of authority that even Skinflint Black couldn't question.

Or perhaps the Headmaster of the Pot was simply trying to ignore the ceramic urn that he had shoved under the most disgruntled Sorting Hat, and had hastened the meeting lest the object of mortification be recognized by his new staff. Theseus sincerely hoped that Madame MacQuoid had been present when the odious item had clanked into Black's office. A fine, well-bred young lady who would had seen every professor and student through the infirmary at least once in their lifetime? She would never let the school hear the end of it.


	4. Chapter 4

_Monday, March 7, 1910_

* * *

Theseus immediately went about making a nuisance of himself.

His first quarry was the head of the kitchen; a sour-faced, droopy-eared house elf named Brackel, who was rumored to be the most valiant and chipper elf in the castle excepting when an upstart alumni chose to criticize _his_ culinary arts.

"We don't have _vermin_ ," the stalwart elf spat, enunciating the word with the passion one would bestow upon an oozing flobberworm.

"Nonetheless, we have anonymous reports that this been spotted nosing around the kitchens," Theseus stated, brandishing a clipboard. The photograph had been torn from a textbook - none of Newt's nifflers would hold still long enough to pose - and the anonymous testimonies were as fictional as the blarney written about nifflers in said textbook (according to Newt's critique), but the check boxes and long-winded statements repelled most sentient individuals from taking a second look.

Indeed, one glance at the microscopic print streaming down the page and Brackel shook his head in disgust. "Ministry interlopers," he grumbled under his breath. "Have to poke their warty noses into everyone's business."

"I have clearance to search the kitchens and the pantry," Theseus said. He added to mollify the growling elf, "If one of your staff will escort me, the process will take less time."

"Fussy, insatiable paper mongrels," Brackel said, loud enough for Theseus to overhear and low enough to feign ignorance of his own words. "Come along, Mister Inspector," he said with sardonic pleasantness. "Brackel will show you the kitchen. Oh yes, Brackel will show you everything!"

There couldn't have been a worse understatement. Every flour barrel and sugar tin was inspected under Brackel's insistence. The floor tiles were examined (dust-free, but three tiles were cracked, Theseus jotted down); the non-dripping candles were lit to prove that no students would be endangered by melting wax, the pantry stores were examined (free of mice and niffler nests, and also disappointingly devoid of the hazelnuts Theseus used to pocket during his pre-graduate years); the cutlery drawers were unlocked and the silver counted (one fork was slightly tarnished - unacceptable); the most commonly used recipes were examined for measurement inaccuracies (treacle tarts were apparently a guarded secret, for Theseus was still left flummoxed as to how the crumbly, tart pastry was perfected to his childhood standards); heating spells were tested according to proper temperature regulations (only one house elf overcooked a fish fillet, and was thoroughly scolded by Brackel and sacked on the spot); mushroom stores were inspected for mold; spices were scrutinized for intermixed potion ingredients (a possibility which would never have been included on the report if Theseus hadn't remembered a few of his more ingenious schemes); tables were checked for encrusted flour (to which Brackel protested, "We are not primitives, rolling out dough by hand!"); preservation spells were recast to prove effectiveness; and food and dish apparation was judged for accuracy in placement and food overflow. Brackel fussed, Theseus scribbled, pecans were pocketed, and the clock was flaunted, until Theseus pried himself from the smug house elf's clutches, writing in block letters _**Waste of Time**_ as he left.

Examining the kitchen had occupied the better part of his day. He hoped that Newt had seen better luck searching the library. The sooner they left this facade behind the better.

He was so busy sketching a gnashing caricature of Brackel on his clipboard that he nearly tripped over the second-year loitering in the hall. Stumbling to step around the sudden flurry of black-robed limbs, Theseus grabbed for the windowsill and missed by an inch, pitching backwards entirely as the hair-brained student shoved into him a second time, scrabbling for a lump of patchy black and white fur.

"Watch out! You'll squash him!"

Rolling up from his bruised hip, Theseus gaped at the lanky boy with tangled curls and freckles powdering his nose. An equally scruffy, adolescent niffler flailed in the boy's clenched hands. Hazel eyes scoured him crossly, just before alarm shot through those naive orbs and the boy scrambled backwards with a gasp.

"Theseus?"

Dignity frazzled and suit intolerably rumpled, Theseus made a fair impression of a codfish before a sneezing niffler broke him out of his daze. Snickering, young Newton Scamander tucked the little runt under his arm and stood, offering Theseus his hand. "Are you alright? What're you doing at Hogwarts?"

 _Not planning to interfere, are we?_ Theseus scolded himself. _A fine job you've made of it on the first day!_

Wary that even touching a second-year Newt might bungle something, Theseus ignored the hand and heaved himself to his feet, feeling like a creaky old man compared to the spritely mirror of his brother. He brushed himself off and bent to retrieve his clipboard, scowling when Newton grabbed for it first.

"Is this why you're here?" Newton prattled, scanning dark check marks and crude comments (not to mention one hastily drawn, incorrigible house elf). "Why didn't you write and tell me you were coming? I thought you were going to France!"

"Change of plans," Theseus said, snatching the clipboard away. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

Unabashed by his brother's gruffness, Newton grabbed his scattered cauldron and books, struggling to balance them with an unhappily captured niffler. "I'm already late," he said in a carefully bland tone. "Professor Dumbledore was telling me about Romanian Longhorns and I lost track of time. He said if I took a shortcut through here I'd make it to Herbology with a few seconds to spare. Except I found this niffler and I didn't want Puggs to exterminate it. I was just going to let it loose outside. Of course, then you bumped into me! How long are you going to stay, Theseus?"

Did Newt always chatter this much? Ah, yes. Those were the days.

"Undecided," Theseus said shortly. Best to keep their interaction as brief as possible. "No, I'm not in France. Change of plans. Give me the niffler - I'll need to hand it over to... Artemis... the pest controller," he said feebly, a breath short of mentioning his brother's name.

Dismay stole the brightness from Newton's eyes and he tucked the niffler under his arm. "Is he an exterminator? I was going to set it loose, I promise! It won't hurt anyone outside."

"No. No," Theseus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Merlin's beard, the preservation passion had started earlier than he thought. "He's a... rehabilitator. He'll make sure it's healthy and release it elsewhere." Somewhere outside of London, preferably. There had already been one disaster when Newt's favorite child had snuck its adopted brood into Theseus' closet, and he still couldn't find some of his favorite cufflinks.

"You're sure?" Newton said sternly. "I won't give it to you if he's going to kill it."

"Newt wouldn't... would you just give it to me?" Theseus corrected, tumbling to amend the disastrous name correlation. " _Mister_ _Caecilian_ wouldn't harm a murtlap if it was chewing his face off. Besides, you can't let that one go outside - it's too young to fend for itself."

Dubiously Newton observed the wriggling niffler, stroking its mussed fur with his thumb. "Do you suppose I could look after it?" he wondered. "Mister Caecilian must be awfully busy if he's rounding them up. I've seen them all over the castle! I could raise this one and let it go when it's old enough."

"Absolutely not." Theseus recalled several equally distressing conversations in Newt's primitive years, and he dreaded to think how many creatures were hiding in the dorm rooms now that Father wasn't confiscating his collection. "Newt, you know the professors won't allow you to keep it."

Sullenness flashed in the second-year's eyes. "Mum would've let me."

"Well, Mum isn't here, is she? But she does want you to do well in school, which won't happen if you don't scoot along to class."

"But they're everywhere!" Newton wheedled. "No one will miss just one!"

"Newton Artemis Fido," Theseus warned. "Niffler. Now."

Scowling, Newton thrust out his little hand, cupping the niffler very gently into Theseus' great paws. Grimacing as their hands brushed together, Theseus waited for a jolt: a tingle of altering time; a clash of two beings who were never supposed to meet.

Nothing happened.

"I wish you hadn't come to Hogwarts," Newton mumbled, wrapping his arms securely around his books. Hazel eyes remained riveted on the niffler, as though any minute Theseus might drop it out of spite. Merlin's pointy hat, this would never do.

"Look," Theseus said, crouching to meet the child's eyes. "Artemis takes excellent care of his animals. He's traveled all over the world and rescued hundreds of creatures. Thunderbirds, occamies, fwoopers…."

"Does he know anything about hippogriffs?" A wan glow of curiosity banished the surliness in the boy's expression. "Does he raise animals? Like Mother?"

"Not hippogriffs," Theseus amended, although he wouldn't put it past Newt to have brought one home to Mother on occasion. "He has doxies and mokes and graphorns, and even a zouwu from China, all of them tucked into fancy little dens inside of his case. So you don't need to be afraid for one little – "

"Really? Has he got them here?" Newton exclaimed. "Do you think he'd let me see them?"

Before Theseus could acknowledge his blunder and steer his brother's past incarnation around the concept of exploring a technically nonexistent case, the child rambled on, "I'm good with animals! I know all about nifflers and I was even going to set up a nest for the one I found. Do you think Mister Caecilian would let me see them? Could I help take care of them? Mother said the hippogriffs aren't the same with me in school, and they're so difficult to please – I'm sure the other animals would accept me! Can't I help, Theseus?"

Absolutely not. No. Not possible. Stammering over his belligerent tongue, Theseus scrambled for a way to gently let his brother down.

 _Which brother_ , now that was the absurd quandary.

Well, he certainly couldn't risk the future to avoid a few crushed hopes in the past. "Artemis is a very busy man," he said pragmatically. "He doesn't have time to cater to students."

"But I could help!" Newton wheedled.

"It's not my place to make promises," Theseus said with finality. Good heavens, could the boy be a bit less persistent? "Mister Caecilian is here on official school business. You shouldn't bother him."

"But what if I – "

"Aren't you late for your Herbology class?" Theseus interrupted, casting his brother a firm, yet – he hoped – not unkind look. He wasn't sure if he trusted the way Newton's eyes flickered before the child slumped.

"Will I get to see it again?" Newton wondered, looking forlornly at the niffler.

"Perhaps," Theseus said vaguely. _Definitely. You'll probably be too harangued looking after the rest of the brood to even notice that this one disappeared._ "I'll take care of it. I'm the health inspector, after all. Best to make sure it doesn't have, erm, fleas before giving it to the rehabilitator. Off you go now."

Sighing, Newton shifted indecisively and glanced about the hall. Theseus braced himself, anticipating another argument, and nearly tumbled backwards when weedy arms snagged him around the neck. Oomphing in surprise, he braced himself against the wall, not daring to return the sudden embrace.

"I missed you, Theseus!" Newton chirped, before loosing him abruptly and scampering away.

Pulling himself up against the windowsill, Theseus breathed out shakily, pulling at his suit collar. Had he changed so little over the years, that Newt acknowledged him without question? Surely the boy must have noticed the difference in his brother's mannerism, if not his physical appearance. His copacetic outlook troubled Theseus. Newt was resilient; impenetrable as a dragon's hide, even. This boy was as untamed and reckless as a newborn colt discovering its first spring.

Where was the stubborn spark that drove him to find his own path, regardless of his brother's concern for him?

For that matter, when was the last time Newt had willingly sought his affection?

 _I was never harsh with him as a child,_ Theseus reflected. _He was the one who drifted away from me._

Sighing long, baffled by a sense of wariness and unfounded guilt, Theseus held the niffler up and squinted at it, trying to see it through his brother's eyes. It was small. Scruffy. Ridden with parasite, no doubt. Four pink paws and a snuffling nose. Beady black eyes. Mottled coloring that would bleed into thick black fur once it was fully grown. Mushy and vulnerable, a plump morsel of fur and flesh, with no teeth or claws to protect itself.

No, no, that would never do. Newt would never view an animal with the logic of a predator. Tentatively bopping the niffler's pert pink nose, Theseus tried to delve into the magizoologist's imagination.

Inquisitive. Vaguely cuddly, perhaps? No consideration for personal space or belongings. Sneaky. Rebellious. Incorrigible. Snappy when provoked.

Rather comparable to one Newt Scamander.

Thoughtfully Theseus began to set the niffler down, then remembered its thieving habits. Ignoring the sneezing whuffs of protest, he swiped a finger through the adolescent's pouch. His search produced a silver snake pin with emerald dotted eyes, three unmatched earrings, an assortment of knuts, sickles, and British pence, two galleons, a silver quill sharpener, three hair pins, a pocket watch, and four bright brass buttons.

Tucking the scant hoard into his pocket, Theseus set down the begrudging niffler and retrieved his clipboard. Before he could stand the scolding beast had already wriggled into an impossibly small crack in the stonework. _Impossible_. Another word to describe Newt. A creature that couldn't be caged; couldn't be tamed; never quite fit in with the best of society.

Ponderously Theseus rearranged the papers on his clipboard, deciding to pay a visit to one Herbert Beery in the morning. Newton would be present for Herbology this time, he was sure. Perhaps he should mark in his report how well the professors responded when facing an unexpected family visit. He could check up on Newton's behavior in class – tardiness wasn't something he had associated with his brother's schooling - and speak to the professor after class. Perhaps Professor Beery would have something to say about the boy's … odd behavior.

Until then, he had wasted most of the day already. Slipping the clipboard under his arm, Theseus trotted down the hall, merging with the flow of students leaving their classrooms, and turned towards the stairwell descending to the library. He had filled in enough useless sheets to maintain his fallacy of a position. As soon as he found the pages Dumbledore was looking for, he and Newt could return to their own decade.

The sooner the better.

* * *

 **Aaaand we're off! Little Newton jumped into the story sooner than he was supposed to, but he's never been one to mind the rules when creatures are at stake. Expect nifflers, sibling moments and Theseus driving the professors crazy in the upcoming chapters!**

 _ **All reviews will be donated to Pudsey the niffler in the form of gold coins!** (I don't like to ask for reviews, seeing as a story should speak for itself, but it is difficult to guess how the plot fares in the eyes of the public when the inbox is perpetually empty. ... And I was spoiled by all the awesome people who seemed excited about the first chapter.) 0_o_

 **Thank you to LenaLove95, LaughUrHeartOut, morganna12, and John Smith for your reviews and helpful comments last chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Checks inbox... Jaw drops_**

 _Ermegersh, what to do with all these awesome reviews?! 8D Ooh, I know!_

 ** _Posts Early Chapter!_**

 ** _Thanks you to LenaLove95, The Mocking J, LaughUrHeartOut, XYZArtemis, blodreina, SongHyeRii, Mordmil, and John Smith for reviewing! Enjoy the early update!_**

* * *

 _Monday, March 7, 1910_

* * *

Despite their springiness and their tenacity for life, curling new leaves to replace those crushed by careless people, and discarding broken limbs for tender, strong branches like a tree recovering from a harsh frost, bowtruckles were notoriously difficult to care for. Woodlice didn't sell by the barrel, after all. They had to be cultivated and harvested. Left in the trees and the parasites could strip a cultivated forest. If a tin was left open in a habitat the bowtruckles would swoop in and gorge themselves to bursting.

Tiny, grain-like specks of living insects swarmed over Newt's hands as he scooped up the dropped tin, growling around the wand in his teeth as he saw the lid roll into the lake. Bother it all. He'd have to empty another tea barrel to encase these mites. Yanking off his vest, he piled the churning brown mass into the fabric, dirt and all, and shooed away the cheering huddle of bowtruckles.

"Don't even think about it. No. Back off, everyone. Picket, you too. Remember what happened to Cottonwood when she snuck into my stores?"

"Are you talking to the bowtruckles? Can they understand you?"

Newt whirled on his heel, dust and woodlice sifting through his fingers. Who couldn't recognize the piping, shrill voice just cracking on adolescence? "What? No - what are you doing here?" he exclaimed, spontaneously dropping his wand into his cupped hands. "How did you get in here?"

Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, the boy shuffled his feet, his lopsided robe brushing over the dirt. "Theseus told me you had a magical case where you take care of the nifflers"

No. Theseus would never - he couldn't have. He was the one worried about meddling with time, and Newt had been _so careful_ to avoid himself, even going so far as to memorize his second-year schedule to avoid a collision. He knew which routes he favored when switching between classes, and he had specifically set up his case in an old, unused classroom to bypass all of those corridors.

"Theseus told you where to find me?" Surely he would never make such an irrational move, even to tease. Dumbledore had warned them about the dangers of interacting with the past.

"Actually... no... but I saw your case through the window, and no one ever uses this room, so I figured you'd be here. I'm Newt. Newt Scamander." Holding out his hand, the boy stepped forward uncertainly.

"Yes, I ... I know." Rapidly Newt stooped and bundled the woodlice into his vest, eradicating any need for social contact. What was one supposed to do when meeting oneself for the first time? He could hardly invite himself in for tea - certainly not after Theseus switched the packets just to "make sure he was aware of what he put in the teapot." He seemed to recall Theseus giving him a similar scolding about focusing at school once, a long time ago. But Theseus could never take time away from the Ministry to drop by Hogwarts. Perhaps it was a surprise visit around Christmas; the memory was too fuzzy to be sure.

"How do you know my name?" The boy piped in, trotting in Newt's footsteps as he hurried to the shed. "Did Theseus tell you about me? Did he give you the niffler? I named him Pudsey. Can I see him?"

"Niffler? No, Theseus hasn't brought one to me yet." What did one do with a curious child in a wonderful world where he absolutely did _not_ belong? Casting his vest onto the table, Newt searched rapidly for a jar. Picket twined up his trouser-leg, making small pleading noises, while the bowtruckle's cousins helped themselves to the woodlice scattering the floorboards. Shaking his head, Newt upended the jar of willow bark and tossed handfuls of woodlice into the ceramic pot. It would have to do for now.

"Do bowtruckles really pick locks?" Newton asked, trying to distract Picket into climbing onto his finger. "Do they live in familial hierarchies or do they spread off alone, like mantises?"

"What? Um, social clusters. Rather averse towards favoritism," Newt mumbled, shaking off his vest outside and letting the bowtruckles clean up the last scattering of woodlice.

"Are these the nifflers from around the castle? Is that their mother?"

Sparing the golden cage a glance, Newt replied, "She's not a breeder; someone hurt her with an Unforgivable when she was young. Amazing sense of smell, though - she can track a three-week old scent in a crowded plaza."

"You can use them to track people?" Newton exclaimed.

Newt's smile faltered before it could fully form. No, this simply would not do. He couldn't let his past self meddle around in here. He had never known such creatures as a child. What would happen if he was aware of their formidable traits early in his childhood? The graphorns could trample a man into the ground. The nundu could slay an entire village with one silent exhale. He would never rescue them if he was afraid of their power.

"What class do you have now?" Newt prompted, hoping his younger self would take heed to a nonthreatening approach.

"Herbology," the boy answered readily.

Frowning, Newt swept the willow shavings into a teapot and set it on the counter amidst the rest of the herbs. "No, this is ... second year," he estimated. "Almost one o'clock; you're late for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"How did you know?" the boy prompted, his tone wavering between awe and dismay that he had been discovered.

"So that's what you told Theseus," Newt established. "You saw my office before, and you knew he wouldn't stop you if you told him you were going to Herbology."

"That's ... How...? Are you a Legilimens?" Newton asked, tugging at his dusty robes as though Older Brother might be informed directly of his untidy state.

"No, I'm - Look, you shouldn't flaunt Professor Dumbledore's patience. You can't skip class just because you've found something more interesting." _Even if it seems like everything weighs on this one fantastic moment._ Yes, Newt remembered those early days in summer, when young sparrows bolted into the heavens and every cocoon and chrysalis birthed an insect he had never seen. Everything had seemed more important back then.

"I never missed a whole class before," Newton said in paltry excuse. "But there was this niffler in the hall and I'd never caught one in all the weeks they've been here, and Professor Dumbledore never scolds when I'm late, anyways."

Letting out a slow breath through his nose, Newt let the agitation fade slowly and turned to face his younger self. "You can't miss Defense Against the Dark Arts," he warned. "Nothing matters more than the spells you'll learn. You want to protect the creatures you find, don't you?"

Encouraged by the boy's timid nod, Newt continued, "What happens if another wizard - a powerful wizard - is trafficking a rare creature and you want to stop him?"

"I'll use a spell," the second-year answered readily. Clarity flickered in a sheepish smile as he added, "One that I learned in class."

"The simplest ones are the ones you'll rely on the most," Newt established. On an impulse he drew his wand and stated, "Expelliarmus."

Too late he realized it was a foolish idea. Sizzling jolts of repelling energy flashed between identical wands. With a disheartened snap of immature magic the child's wand whipped out of his pocket, clattered into the opposing wall and rebounded onto the table where it rolled with a mournful, hollow ring, as though its very soul has been rent. Clamping his hand around his wand as the same reverberation sounded, Newt thrust it behind him before the child could recognize its shape and color.

"Merlin!" he swore. _Did you really think you were being clever?_

"Whoah," his younger self breathed out. Wide eyes fixated on the wand rocking in the middle of the table, Newton exclaimed, "That was amazing! I didn't know a disarming spell could do that! Theseus always catches my wand when he tutors me. Is that really how the spell works? Can you show me another one?"

"Some other time," Newt said raggedly, pressing a hand between his eyes. The dull ache he'd been feeling that morning was beginning to throb. "Professor Dumbledore can show you better spells. He taught me."

"Really? You went to Hogwarts, too?"

Hero worship that he didn't deserve shone in a child's eyes. Nodding briskly, Newt waved towards the ladder. "You should hurry. You won't miss the entire class if you leave now."

"Theseus says you have an erumpet. Will you show me later?" the boy pleaded. "Can I come back?"

"I don't know..." Newt said distractedly, every second of interaction racking up his certainty that he was doing something irrevocable to his past. "I'll think about... Just hurry now."

Beaming, the boy snatched up his wand and rushed to the ladder, taking one last moment to look about the shack with its niffler cove and bowtruckles scattering the floor. "This is amazing. Leta will want to hear all about it."

 _Just go,_ Newt implored, mentally compelling the boy up the ladder. _Go to class and apologize to Professor Dumbledore, and don't ever come back. You don't realize what it means for you to be here._

Breathing a sigh of relief the instant the case shut, he slumped back against the table and tossed a twitching wood louse down to Picket. Merlin's beard and wand and scruffy cat, whatever had he done?

 _Theseus will be furious when he finds out_. But there was nothing to be helped. Newt hadn't invited the child into his suitcase. He hadn't imagined he would need protection spells against _himself_.

 _We shouldn't be here._ Every hour in the past was catastrophic: Newt understood that just as well as Theseus. Every breath he drew was altering the room; sifting through conversations; imprinting minute by minute upon this year; this decade; this tenuous life before Paris. _Stay until the end of term - and then what? How does one find a book that even the ghosts and paintings have not seen?_

He wished it would have been prudent to bring Jacob along. Jacob would have loved Hogwarts. Magic enchanted him like a child tottling after the circus, exclaiming over every color and light and sound. Travelling with a muggle had compelled Newt to appreciate the extraordinary nuances of something so petty as a levitation spell. Things he had taken for granted.

Jacob would have known immediately where to look for a missing book. Sensible, forthright Jacob. Always seeing the obvious when complex wizards took weeks to muddle about. Newt could have asked him where one might hide a book they weren't supposed to read and Jacob would have said something pragmatic like, "Maybe the shrieking shack - no one's allowed in there," or "If I wanted to read something forbidden I'd hide in the prefects' bathroom." And he would've been right, because somehow he always saw the source of a problem and not all of the people around it.

But Jacob wasn't here, and every day that Newt lingered jeopardized his chances of bringing Queenie home. Turning back to the table, he dismally glanced over the disarray. His vest was filthy, covered with the dark mulch that now coated half the table. Fragments of herbs and wood pulp lay thick as dust under books and parchments that he hadn't had time to read. There was a bundle of raw dittany that he had meant to distill to extract the oil. The leaves were brittle and dry, drooping from limp stems. How had he forgotten it?

He needed to focus on the mission. Theseus would expect some research to be completed by the time they regrouped this evening. He remembered Leta mentioning something during second year about muggle customs involving mingled blood and...

Slapping a hand against his forehead, Newt swore softly. _Leta!_

* * *

Researching the restricted section on the premises of "Checking that appropriate titles were barred from underage students" was either a noble task in the eyes of the professors, or a welcome relief to keep Theseus out of the classrooms. He was left to himself with no disturbances save the dislocated voices of students searching for their own information in the central library. What should have been an easy matter of scanning titles turned into a mission of futility, for the restricted section was larger than Theseus remembered and he had scarcely squinted through the faded print of the titles on the third bookshelf before he glanced out the window and realized he was late to rendezvous with Newt. He hoped his brother had fared better, but knowing the maintenance required for a score of dangerous and - until Newt had come along - unmanageable beasts, Theseus wouldn't blame him if he had forgotten to take time for tea.

Tramping down the ladder into the Pest's lair, Theseus leaped down the final rungs and strolled into his brother's workshop. Idly he looked around him, shaking his head. There was a bundle of decaying plant stems in a barrel designated for scraps and compost. Papers littered the table, streaked with thin lines of what looked like mulch and particles of insect exoskeletons. A cup of pale tea, long gone cold, sat on the cleanest corner. A soft huffing noise revealed a snoring black niffler who was curled around the china, twitching in its sleep, a half-nibbled biscuit nestled between its paws.

Stamping feet at the door heralded Newt's entrance. Shaking clumps of sticky grass off his shoes, he glanced at Theseus and grimaced. "One of the mooncalves is sick," he mumbled by way of apology. "Upset stomach, nothing contagious. I just managed to settle her down."

"Did you find anything?" Theseus wondered, perusing the Old Latin on the parchments.

"No, there's nothing there," Newt said distractedly. "I think I know where to inquire about the book, though." Striding to the table, he shook his head and scooped up the niffler, gently examining her eyes and throat. "I told you to stay out my tea, you silly old thing. Willow always makes you drowsy."

"Willow?" Theseus glanced up sharply, immediately scanning his brother for injury.

"Just a mild headache." Newt shrugged. He opened the niffler cage, shooing the infants aside before tucking the adult into the furthest corner. "Did you happen to find the book?"

"No. The restricted section was enormous. Are you proposing that one of the professors has the book already?"

"Not a professor," Newt corrected. He plucked up one of the niffler infants, checking its fur and feet for scuffle marks or bites before trading it for another. "I think one of the students borrowed it. You might ask Leta if she knows anyone who would want to research blood pacts. We were in the same classes during second year. She talked about one of her housemates believing in a muggle legend where friends became kin through sharing blood. It's quite possible that..."

Leta. Theseus' mind closed off as his heart wrenched within him. Leta, with her broken past that drove her to passionately care for others. Her shaken confidence that had crystallized into a foundation of diamond, coaxing others to draw strength from her fortitude. The woman who had risen from the ashes to stand proud among the strong. The woman who hid her true self from the world and told Theseus everything save for the years when she was ridiculed in school. Years of her childhood, veiled under mystery and gentleness, when the world had mocked her for her creativity. Years which she had devoted to his brother. Theseus had always envied that attention. He had never pressed Leta, nor reprehended Newt, but he had _wondered_ what had taken place between them.

Now she was here. Alive. Daring and young, darting about the halls of Hogwarts, a young girl unfettered by her life's choices.

He had known that Newt would be a child in this timeline. He had never considered _Leta_.

"... I think that should be our first avenue," Newt concluded, looking to his brother for approval.

Shaking his head briefly to clear it, Theseus nodded. "Yes. Of course." What on earth was Newt proposing?

Oblivious to his brother's inattentiveness, Newt shuffled the papers together and clamped them between the stack of books, to be misplaced and forgotten amidst the rest of his clutter. "Did you tell him about my case? I mean me - the younger me."

Categorizing the day's events, Theseus clarified the most obvious quandary. "Surely he didn't come here? I told him not to bother you and sent him off to class."

Newt sighed. "He must have seen the case open. I tried to make him leave, but of course he had to know everything about the animals."

As delightful as it was for Newt to be pestered by his own chattering for once, the implications were ominous. "What happened?" Theseus asked. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing much," Newt said wearily. "I told him he should pay more attention to his classes. He's already named one of the nifflers. I'm not sure what that might affect in the future."

Naming one niffler could hardly be problematic. Theseus had already assumed that the thieving vermin would be returned to a controlled habitat once Newt was finished with them. "Were you always in the habit of skipping classes?" he wondered. That might have explained some of the sulking during summer breaks.

The look Newt cast him could have withered a dementor. "I never skipped class - not before today. Sometimes I was late," he admitted, "But that wasn't always something I could help."

"How can you 'not help' punctuality?" Theseus retorted. Noting the rigidness in Newt's shoulders, he added in a lighter tone, "Should I have sent you a pocket watch for Christmas?"

"It wouldn't have been worth the trouble," Newt mumbled, almost too low for Theseus to hear. He tucked the last squalling niffler amongst its siblings and closed the cage.

Watching his brother busy himself about his roost, Theseus compared the flippant, air-headed rebel to the nonsensical, clingy child he had met in the corridors.

"What changed?" he posed quietly.

Startled, Newt glanced up in the middle of shaking sluggish black beetles into his palm. "What do you mean?"

"You," Theseus said. Nostalgia wafted in the back of his mind as old memories stirred. He used to pick up Newt from the train station. All gangly legs poking out from outgrown trousers and tangled curls framing a radiant smile. Newt used to prattle on for days during Christmas holiday. He wanted to be a chaser one day and an astrologist the next. He used to fill the great, empty house with laughter.

Even during the school year Theseus kept tabs on his brother through letters, writing whenever there was interesting news from home. After his third year, Newt stopped writing more than a few sentences. _I'm fine. Everything's fine. Miss you sometimes._ Theseus always assumed that he was occupied with his friends, but as the years passed and Newt slowly detached himself, he wondered if he had missed something. Said something. Pushed his brother away.

Meticulously distributing beetles to the niffler pups, Newt shook his head. "Nothing happened," he said elusively. "I grew up. The world wasn't everything I thought it would be."

"Leta chose her own path?" Theseus assumed. It had to have been Leta. No child as bright and happy as Newt would have altered so drastically if not for a girl's rejection.

Merlin, he himself was lost without her.

Abruptly Newt went still, inclining his head as though listening for something deeper than Theseus' implication. "Yes, Leta chose her own path," he said in a low voice. Turning sharply, he closed the beetle jar and set it in a cold crate, saying brusquely, "I need to check on Madeline; make sure she's keeping down the medicine. The headmaster showed you where to find your room?"

"Yes, and there's a second bed in the adjoining room," Theseus emphasized. "Don't you ever sleep?"

Pointing his chin towards the afghan bunched over a chair, Newt assured, "I'll probably stay here overnight. Mooncalves are fragile, especially during mating season. She'll probably need several doses before she's back on her feet."

"Rest yourself, Newton," Theseus urged. "We can't have you nodding off in front of the nundu."

"Yes, I know how to look after myself, Theseus." Practically bounding out the door to escape his imposing older brother, Newt barely caught the coat flung in his direction and called over his shoulder, "I'll tell you if I find anything tomorrow!"

Not likely to happen, Theseus considered, chuckling at his brother's hasty retreat. Long accustomed to the avoidance game, he knew that Newt would be in the same mood the following evening. A little flighty, a little bothered by Theseus "mothering," but eager to share anything that could help them return home.

An objective which might take a little longer to reach, Theseus admitted. He had questions for a few of the professors. With a well of information regarding his brother's formative years at his fingertips, how could he resist? It wouldn't pull him away from the mission - he had to feign a few classroom inspections anyways.

He might even learn more about a high-spirited, bushy-haired Slytherin while he was at it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Quick Note: There's a lot of debate on the internet about how "Minerva McGonagall" could be at Hogwarts in 1927 when she didn't teach Transfiguration until about 1956. The most believable theory is that her father, Robert McGonagall, could have had an older sister named Minerva who became this Professor McGonagall of the time, and after whom the familiar Minerva McGonagall was named.**

 **There is a theory is that since McGonagall was time-traveling in the Ministry in her younger years, she might have been assigned by Barty Crouch Sr. to travel back in time to kill Tom Riddle before he became Voldemort. I'm not sure about that one since the timelines don't quite add up, and there's still the matter of time-turners being unreliable for more than a few hours in one setting.**

 **All of that aside, I've placed McGonagall as the aunt figure with as much resemblance to the original as I can contrive. As a relative it would make sense for the original McGonagall to have personally traits like her aunt, and also have a knack for Transfiguration. If the theory about time-travel does turn out to be true, the original McGonagall could potentially have a place in this story without seeming OOC. (Fingers crossed!)**

* * *

 _Tuesday, March 8, 1910_

* * *

 _"I don't know what you're talking about!"_

Professor Herbert Beery could have argued in court that he wasn't shouting and the most quarrelsome juror would have agreed with him, for no one could hear his own thoughts over the tribe of young mandrakes that were screeching as if their roots were being mashed into paste.

Clamping his hands over his ear mufflers, Theseus hollered over the commotion, "Mandrakes! Are! Illegal! For Second-Years!"

"What are you blathering on about?" Beery exclaimed. "This is my third-year class! I wouldn't trust a halfwit two-year with a three-inch sapling! Get out of the way - you'll kick over my pots!"

"What?"

"Pots, you ninnybrain! Merlin's bulbous nose, I never thought I'd be defending my position to a former student. Jenkins, don't stand there airing your mandrake like a rug - put it in the soil where it can breathe!"

"Mister Beery!" Theseus tried again.

"What? Oh, tosh and nonsense! Why does the Ministry always have to involve itself in my class?"

"I need to see your credentials!" Theseus yelled. What else was there to critique? He was barely making out every other word as Professor Beery sailed about his greenhouse. Thank heavens Herbology hadn't been a requirement after fifth year.

"Gardenias? This is Herbology, not a hothouse!"

"Credentials!"

"Red ants? Here? Preposterous! Next you'll insinuate that one of those furry little pests slipped inside."

"No! Your creden - oh, for heaven's sakes!" Flipping the forms around, Theseus scrawled on the back, 'Certification.'

"Certification?" Beery spluttered. "As if the Ministry has the gall to question my credentials after years of teaching? I'll have your certification, young man! Snipping about my leaping toadstools, mincing about a scattering of spilt dirt! If I have any say in it they'll pack you off to the Ministry in your own trunk! Jenkins! What did I tell you about setting that mandrake to rest! What do you think this is, a garden party?"

Clearly there was no sound argument to be made with the Herbologist this afternoon. Rolling his eyes, Theseus spiraled on one polished heel and saw himself to the door. He might have accidentally nudged one burgundy pot of aconite into the path where some fluttering student would trip over it. Such a pity.

Checking off his list, he referred to the timetable written in the corner and scratched off Herbology around 1:00. Whatever class a young Newton was supposed to be attending during a niffler-hunting session, it wasn't under Mr. Beery's tutelage. Belatedly, Theseus realized he should have asked Newt for an estimation of his old schedule.

Either way, young Newton had some explaining to do about his proclaimed tardiness for a third-year Herbology lesson.

There was no point in wasting time dogging each classroom in hopes of finding Newton in his current environment. While class was carrying on, Theseus could return to the library and peruse another shelf of useless texts. What a ridiculously tedious chore. He should have been able to locate the book in a single afternoon.

 _Then again,_ Theseus acknowledged, _If it was that simple then Professor Black would have sent a house elf to retrieve it rather than endure a prolonged visit from a couple of his least favorite alumni._

Given Newton's most recent scandals, Theseus was beginning to wonder if he was the only troublemaker that Black was anxious to send packing. He had always assumed his brother had been tolerably well-behaved - if distracted - during his classes. It seemed there had been a bit more mischief involved. He wasn't sure whether he should be proud of Newt's rebellious snatches or cross that he had been sloppy enough to ruin his schooling.

Definitely cross. They never talked about why Newt had been expelled in his sixth year, but Theseus had the feeling he was glimpsing the first threads of a pattern. He couldn't help but wonder if a small nudge was necessary. With Newt so eager to improve at this age...

And yet the very thought was futile. If the past could be changed so easily, Grindelwald would be ashes scattered throughout Paris and many a good witch or wizard would still be alive. Theseus knew well what could happen if he meddled with Newt's school years. A man had once erased his entire family in trying to amplify his success by tracking back to a missed board meeting.

Yet surely it would only benefit Newt to finish his schooling. With a bit more dedication he could master his classes - maybe even succeed as an auror. If Newt had been at his side with more knowledge about _c_ _onfringo_ than chizpurfles, Grindelwald might never have escaped. The war could have been over by now. Perhaps it could be yet. If he corralled Newt's diversions at an early age, promoting the value of hard work and dedication, could they return to the future to discover a world free of Grindelwald's terror? At least Theseus would no longer fear for his brother's safety. With a fine education and further training as an auror, Newt would be a reckonable force. He had the raw talent. All he needed was a little coaxing on this end, and then...

And then...

And then what would become of the darting smile when Theseus chased his brother down the hall? Newt would never fear the Ministry, but he would lose that element of daring. He could have everything he ever wanted - more than could fit inside of a dull suitcase. The Ministry would call upon him frequently for settling unrest. He might even forgo training dragons on the Eastern Front to fight on the front lines.

Merlin, he could be killed. A war hero, sacrificing all for his country. A future rewritten that could never be undone. Theseus would never forgive himself.

Breathing out shakily, Theseus took the stairwell two steps at a time. Changing the past was forbidden for a reason. Only fools risked their entire world on the mere fancy of a better future. He had to let Newt make his own mistakes and live with them.

Even if the pain of failure separated them for nearly a decade.

* * *

Another futile two hours of flipping through manuscripts too old to have legible titles convinced Theseus that he was wasting his time. The book simply wasn't in the restricted section. Either it had been misplaced in the general library, or he would need a proper reason to search the student dorms. Perhaps he could persuade Newt to plant a minor infestation of flobberworms - that would clear out the girls' dorms without any fuss.

Speaking of his brother, Theseus had his own agenda regarding young Newton's antics. Jotting down a list of plausible accusations to sneer about, Theseus ambled to the Transfiguration classroom. Professor McGonagall was fairly new to her station. Fluttery, impressionable, and understudied was the profile Black had summarized of her character. A free-spirited woman who no doubt encouraged Newt's daydreaming.

Spirited she was, Theseus realized the moment he stepped into the classroom, but impressionable was not a word suitable for Minerva McGonagall.

"What you did was not only disruptive to the class, but dangerous! Have you any idea how deadly the venomous tentacula is?"

Instantly Theseus' attention was seized by the clump of spikes rocking on McGonagall's desk, and the red-faced thirteen-year-old standing before her.

 _Oh, Newt - you didn't!_

Pushing the door open with more force than necessary, Theseus cleared his throat and stepped inside. McGonagall quickly gathered her startled wits, while Newt's agitated flush washed into white-faced devastation. Theseus... well, he wasn't sure if he was shocked or furious. Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised to see that his little brother had followed in his devious footsteps while at school, but Newton had done so in the worst possible way.

"Newton," he said quietly.

Recognizing a familial intervention, McGonagall said briskly, "Class dismissed. I expect three full paragraphs from each of you tomorrow on the venomous tentacula. This precedes all other assignments."

Various grumbles portrayed the students' regard for Newton's most recent infarction. Only one girl furtively shot him a sympathetic glance as she gathered up her books. The top book slid off the stack, spilling out of its hard cover and spiraling onto Theseus' shoes: a musty, yellowing cluster of old parchment and faded ink. Instinctively Theseus dropped into a crouch, salvaging the scattered papers and the dented cover.

" _The Tales of Beetle the Bard?_ " he commented, stuffing the pages back together. "Bit lost for wear, don't you think? Did you find this in a...?"

The question died in his throat as the second-year grabbed for the book, her wide brown eyes dark with distrust. Theseus nearly dropped the book into her small hands.

"Leta Lestrange?" he croaked.

She was only a child - barely recognizable with bushy black hair and cheekbones that rounded a large nose; a far cry from the beauty she would become. Yet Theseus would have know her even if her hair was cropped short or her face was obscured under a pimple jinx.

Before he could stammer something completely balderdash and ill befitting a cantankerous older brother who meant to give his sibling the scolding of a lifetime, Leta ducked past him and hurried past the door. A grey shadow in Slytherin robes, haunted by a ghost who followed her past the water's edge. She was so alone amongst her companions. No one to take in confidence about her darkest secret; the guilt which crippled her childhood.

Would she have smiled more during her years of glory, if she had only known in her youth that she was cherished?

In a flit of elusive grey the lamprophis merged into the tide of black robes: one more child among hundreds who saw nothing more ominous than the upcoming paper or test. Innocent to Grindelwald's crimes.

Some of whom would even join him.

Troubled, Theseus forced himself to tuck away the thought as he turned to face his errant little brother.

Immediately Newt darted forward, hazel eyes wide in his ashen face as he entreated, "I didn't do it, Theseus! Please believe me. I didn't put it on Corbyn's chair!"

"What are you saying, Newt?" McGonagall said. Her tone was even and controlled, undeterred by wrath or tears from her students. "You told me you were responsible."

"I wouldn't ever steal something from the greenhouse!" Newt continued heedlessly. "Professor Beery told us not to go near the plant and I didn't, Theseus! I swear!"

"If you didn't acquire a spore from the venomous tentacula, then who conspired with you?" McGonagall challenged. "You may not have taken the plant, but you know who did it. Concealing a criminal is equal to taking part in the crime, Newton Scamander."

"I don't know who did it." The answer was as rushed as when Newt declared he was going to Herbology. A blithely thrown lie, uttered so easily that Theseus could suddenly reconcile the second-year scamp with the magizoologist who stole his appearance to sneak into the Lestrange vault. He thought Newt's misbehaviors began after fourth year. How could he have missed the early shoots of rebellion?

"Professor Beery might be able to prove your alibi," Theseus said evenly. He kept his voice low, compelling Newt to confess the truth. "I spoke with him early this afternoon, while he was attending his third-year class."

Good heavens, was it possible for the boy to look any more distraught?

"I... I didn't... I was going to..." Tears loomed in Newt's eyes, but he held the charade with excellent form as he explained, "I was late for Herbology yesterday, Theseus. I wasn't lying! Not all the way. I had to stop by Professor Beery's because Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let me into class without my wand and I left it by the aconite pots. I never took any spores from the venomous plant, Theseus! I didn't!"

"Perhaps this would be discussed better between the two of you," McGonagall murmured, inclining her head towards the door. Indeed, Newt looked like he would shake apart at the slightest scold.

Sighing quietly at the drastic turn of what should have been an ordinary conversation with a tutor, Theseus looped an arm over the second-year's shoulders and steered him towards the door. The kindly touch only increased Newt's trembling tenfold. Was he so afraid of a reprimand from his brother?

"Easy now," Theseus murmured, digging out the keys Dumbledore had provided to unlock the prefect's bathroom. Hustling Newt inside, he guided him to the sink and turned on the cold tap. "Wash your face, and then tell me everything that happened. I'm not angry."

Confused, most certainly. Disappointed, the level of which would be determined by the depth of the crime. His anger was reserved only for himself; for teaching his brother how to one-up his classmates. He should have regaled Newt with tales of quidditch matches and pretty girls, instead of making him giggle uncontrollably with exaggerated stories of spiking the prefects' bath with bubbles that would wash out all the color in the user's hair, and conjuring ferrets that turned cartwheels down the tables in the Great Hall.

"I'm sorry!" Newt babbled. His tears had been washed away with the cold fountain, yet his heart bled out in his young face. "I wasn't trying to lie to you, honest! It just sort of came out. I really _was_ going to stop by the Herbology classroom."

"When did it become so easy to lie to me?" Theseus questioned, smoothing back the dampened mop of curls.

"Theseus, don't say it like that!" Newt cried out. "I would never - never!"

But the truth could not be denied, and his little heart broke to acknowledge it. Throwing himself against Theseus, the second-year sobbed with the passion of a boy who had lost his greatest treasure, clinging to him with cold, sweaty hands.

"I'm sorry, Theseus! I won't do it again! Oh, don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?" Theseus said with gentle amusement, for hidden as the boy was, he couldn't see the gentleness in his brother's eyes. "Come here now."

Hoisting the second-year into his arms (which was pleasantly easier now than when he was twenty), Theseus stepped back and settled on the rim of the stately bathtub, tucking the curly head under his chin, letting the child sort through his troubles until only an intermittent sniffle could be heard. When the trembling ceased at last Theseus glanced down, raising a droll eyebrow at Newt's uncertain expression.

"If I tell McGonagall you're going to devoutly study the evil of venomous tentaculas with her every evening after class until the next half moon, and we say nothing more about this, will you promise never to lie to me again?"

Brow pinched soberly as he sorted the punishment from the pardon, Newt glanced up with clarity and nodded. Sending the boy to his feet, Theseus stood gingerly and stifled a groan. Merlin, he was already an old man with crackling joints.

"Do you think the headmaster will want to see me, too?" Newt asked glumly.

Suspecting a reason now behind an older Newt's attentiveness in Black's office, Theseus hummed perspectively and bent to meet his smaller brother's eyes. "Mm, not if I have a word with your Transfiguration Professor first."

Gratitude swept over lingering apprehension, like sunbeams brushing aside the last dewdrops of the morning. Seizing Theseus in an arm-locked grip, Newt squeezed with all his might and whispered, "Thank you, Theseus!"

The storm was not yet over for the older brother, however, even as he sent Newt scampering to do his homework. Leaning back against the bath, Theseus stared at the gushing faucet and wondered.

If he had only been here for Newt during these formative years...

 _What if?_


	7. Chapter 7

_Tuesday Evening, March 8, 1910_

* * *

"I'm sure you understand my predicament, Mister Scamander."

A few candles balked in the dark classroom, casting scraggly shadows against the wall. Only a few slivers of moonlight reflected from frosted window panes. The moon herself was cloaked and ominous, concealing her thoughts like the grim stance of a stalwart teacher, or the twining shadow of a venomous spore. Professor McGonnagal's hands were folded tightly across the papers she was grading. A physical attempt for control, Theseus wagered. Control over her classroom, or against the tug of mercy, he had yet to ascertain. He hoped it was the latter. A dedicated tutor could always be swayed with a little persuasion.

"Clearly my brother is having difficulty focusing on his classes," Theseus said, cautious in his approach. He was here to learn, not to have Newt shipped home early. "I've never seen him so troubled. Perhaps you could illuminate me on his more recent behavior in school."

"I've already sent letters to his parents, Theseus," McGonagall stated. Letters which Theseus had never seen. "Pardon my bluntness, but while I've never seen a devious act on his part before now, he's most certainly the most distractible child in my class. He balks at the simplest animal transformations, he can't attend to his studies on a normal day, never mind with nifflers popping out of every nook and cranny, he doesn't mind where he waves that wand of his while he's casting a spell, and I find these..." here she held up several papers smudged with ink prints and cluttered with doodles of hippogriffs and dragons, "... On all of his homework. Now I understand that the Scamander family is well renowned and I'm proud of each student who succeeds in my class, but I don't believe a visit to the headmaster is unwarranted for young Newton. This is not the first time he's brought something disruptive into the classroom. Shall I expect a blast-ended skrewt next?"

"I understand that Newt is a bit distrait on his best days," Theseus admitted, "But he has never been cruel. Whoever used the spore against that boy did so without his knowledge. I've spoken with him already, and he's agreed to serve detention for as long as you see fit. He even offered to research the venomous tentacula so that he can write a full report on why the spores should never be pocketed by students."

"I can't imagine how he managed to pocket one in the first place," McGonagall said, huffing a little as though subtly pleased that Newt had finally grasped the seriousness of his actions. "I will still have to report this to the headmaster, however."

"Professor Black is incredibly preoccupied with the niffler infestation," Theseus considered mildly. "One student's infarction can hardly be a worthy case if the teacher has meted punishment and the family has been notified." He let the suggestion hover for a moment before concluding somberly, "If something of the kind should happen again, I promise to bring Newt to his office myself."

Sighing pensively, Professor McGonagall let her hands fall trimly onto the desk. Mercy had overruled on this count. "Very well, Mister Scamander. I expect to see Newton here after his classes until the end of term. I trust he's considered the error of his ways."

Not in everything, regrettably. The sixth-year dropout was still proof that Newt couldn't and wouldn't be handled, no matter how many times Theseus urged him to stop mucking about. His brother would always be a free spirit.

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," he said, offering her that brief quirk of a smile that never failed to mollify the secretaries when he needed a form hand-copied without delay.

Cold eyes smothered his paltry attempt at camaraderie. "You have a report to make, I presume?" McGonagall said, retrieving a neat stack of papers from her desk. "I assume you're not here just to make sure Newton is behaving in class. These are the forms and credentials the Ministry will need to document. As class is over, the room is free for you to patrol. I'll anticipate your return in the coming week to observe the students' capacity to learn the spells and text required."

"We're the Health and Safety department," Theseus retorted. "We don't forewarn anyone of an inspection."

"Then I'll instruct the students to look surprised," McGonagall said, a crafty gleam lighting her eyes. "Good evening, Mister Scamander."

Concealing his own smirk, Theseus accepted the sheath of papers and nodded in farewell, retreating from the candlelit den of trilling birds and old books. What a pity that Professor McGonagall had only been hired on in the last few years. He would have been inspired with her as his transfiguration teacher.

And she might not have been surprised in the least by Newt's discordant behavior.

* * *

"Were you always this much of a handful? I knew you were difficult to keep up with, but I thought that school would keep you occupied long enough to stay out of trouble." Sliding down the ladder frame into Newt's case, Theseus swung around and glanced about the shed. His needling smile vanished instantly. "Merlin, have you slept at all since we left London?"

Wordlessly Newt held up a scrap of paper. Moving slowly, sensing another headache that had to be pounding in that thick skull, Theseus approached and pressed a hand against his brother's forehead. No fever, but there was no mistaking the bloodshot, shadowed eyes that could hardly focus on a candle flame, let alone the tiny Latin scrawl clustered on a worn page.

"When did you last sleep, Newt?" Theseus asked softly.

"I found it outside of Professor Dumbledore's classroom," Newt said thickly, shifting out from under his brother's hand and offering the paper again. "I thought I'd take a walk; find that little scamp I named. I'm missing three of the adolescent nifflers. This was in the hall."

Gingerly taking the old parchment, Theseus squinted at the lettering. Several rust-colored blotches had marred the script. "Is that...?"

"The blood marks are new," Newt revealed solemnly. "Someone attempted one of the spells."

"Surely not one of the professors," Theseus said. Not Dumbledore, certainly - he never would have sent them for a book he had already examined it. If one of Hogwarts' guardians had done so, however, and became allied with Grindelwald in the future, there would be no chance to destroy the amulet.

"I still think it was a student," Newt said, yawning into his elbow. He was still in his Ministry uniform - ghastly blue trousers and a starched shirt that was now rumpled and streaked with tiny hoof marks. Mooncalves were notoriously persistent in showing their affection. "It doesn't say anything about blood oaths, but it's the right book. That means it's still in the castle."

"They found it by the end of the year," Theseus recalled. "Everything but the necessary pages." The coppery stains were disturbing. Blood was a dreadful element to use in spells; even a potions master hesitated before utilizing a single drop. A student experimenting with blood pacts could easily become the next Grindelwald.

"Professor Dumbledore said he didn't see it in his classroom," Newt commented. Catching Theseus' baffled look, he embellished, "I ran into him today. He's younger. I'd forgotten about that. He caught me looking at this, so I had to tell him what we were searching for. Dumbledore can smell a lie from all away across the English Channel, you know. He doesn't know where we're from - just that I'm on an important mission and you're really annoying and he thinks it's going to be droll when you invade his classroom - but I don't think he'd tell anyone about us anyways. He said he'd keep an eye out in case any of his students were reading something from the restricted section. I think he knows I'm related to you but he didn't pester me about it, and the headmaster wasn't supposed to tell anyone at school."

Mussing his brother's hair gently to stop the rambling flow, Theseus tossed the useless page onto the table and pushed a pile of open books out of reach. "Nothing's going to starve in here overnight, Newt," he said. "We're going upstairs and you're going to sleep in an actual bed for at least four hours."

"I'll sleep here," Newt mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "I've got a bed... sort of. I can't sleep in the castle; there's too much confusion."

Glancing at what he had previously assumed was a kneezle nest for the occasional litter, Theseus tsked and shook his head. The bundle of quilts and cushions in the corner was more alike to a child's play nest than a comfortable bed. "How ever do you survive without Porpentina?"

"Sod off," Newt grumbled, pushing his hand away. "I'm not going upstairs, Theseus."

"Then humor me." Dealing with a four-year-old insomniac who was also a picky eater had taught Theseus to choose his battles. "Bunker down for a few hours. I'll stay here and research."

Either the instinctive consolation that someone else was keeping watch for the night, or the reassurance of Theseus' presence convinced Newt to stand up, rub his eyes like an owl pulling in its head at sunrise, and practically flop down into the middle of the blanket pile. He squirmed around, somehow finding comfort in the heap of scrap fabric, and didn't even scowl when Theseus looped an afghan over him.

"You're an idiot," Theseus murmured. Scooting Newt's chair closer to the table, he shuffled aside the redundant papers that had been scratched through and flipped open a copy of _Blood Ties: A Concordance._

"Never thanked you, by the way," Newt sighed, half out of his head already. "Standing up for me."

Perturbed, Theseus stared at him for a few minutes until the deep breaths told him that Newt was truly asleep. "What on earth is going through your head?" he wondered softly. Expecting no answer, he turned his attention back to the intricacies of the Greek-infused text. He hunched over the faded writing, comparing notes with an English translation until his eyes felt raw and he contemplated the benefits of a cup of willow tea. All around him the screeching of nocturnal beasts broke the night's solace, jolting even the nifflers from their twitching slumber. Newt didn't stir until morning.

* * *

 **Thank you to LaughUrHeartOut, SomeRandomHuman001, LenaLove95, The Mocking J, Son of Whitebeard, John Smith, Mordmil, and XYZArtemis for reviewing Chapters 5 and 6! (Apologies, I forgot to add acknowledgments on the last chapter.)**

 **Everything necessary has now been written and put in order, so expect earlier updates from this point. Cheers, y'all!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Many thanks to LenaLove95, XYZArtemis, Mordmil, The Mocking J, and SomeRandomHuman001 for reviewing! The niffler demonstrates its gratitude with a shower of chocolate coins (sans the gold wrappers).**

* * *

 _Wednesday, March 9, 1910_

* * *

"I wondered when you would make your rounds."

One eyebrow quirked in amusement, Professor Dumbledore stepped away from the door and waved Theseus into his classroom. The high ceiling and uncluttered shelves testified to a man who was meticulous yet comprehensive of his students' needs. Theseus had enjoyed this class more than any other. Glancing around with the air of a discontent meddler, he singled out the persons of interest. Newt was correct: twelve-forty sharp, giving ten minutes' leave for tardiness, and his second-year mirror was seated closest to the window in the back of the classroom, wide eyes following Theseus as he strolled down the aisle between desks. Two rows up was Leta, watching him with dull interest, aware of his existence only through his brother's regales - if Newton spoke of him at all.

"Feel free to peruse the classroom," Dumbledore invited, stepping past Theseus and simultaneously commanding the forefront attention of his students. "You won't mind if I continue."

"Not at all," Theseus assured. "You won't object to any questions throughout the lesson."

Dumbledore shrugged, his affable expression lightening what could have been a dismal and troubled room. "My time is yours. Students, if you'll turn to page two hundred and eighty-seven: we will review the _Vermillious Duo_ this afternoon, and advance to the _Vermillious Tria_."

Keeping his head down to mimic a closed-minded inspector, Theseus idly took notes while snatching glimpses of his brother. As he expected, Newton was more interested in the impromptu visitor than the schematics of _Vermillious_ spell. Theseus could feel the young eyes boring into him, silently wondering, but whenever he turned around Newton hastily looked at his book, feigning an intense, brow-furrowed interest in the lesson. Smart lad, even if he was sloppy at subterfuge.

 _Two… three students with outdated editions,_ Theseus wrote, eyeing the pages numbers and pictures of the open books. Older siblings tended to pass on their books to the next in line, particularly in families earning no more than a sickle or two a week. The Ministry of Magic approved new editions for a reason, however, particularly for crucial classes such as Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there was no reason why a decent school couldn't budget for a few copies to lend to the students during class periods.

 _No animal droppings or dandruff._ In fact, the classroom was remarkably clean for being subjected to seven different levels of students every week. The shelves were free of dust and the windows were well-polished. The only signs of wear were the furniture pieces: the same wooden tables that Theseus remembered, the classic but ancient professor's desk, and bookshelves that had lost all polish yet were as sturdy as when they were first carved. He cast a subtle environment spell, looking for shimmers in the wood that would indicate rough edges or exposed slivers, and was pleased to note that Dumbledore had already spelled the furniture to protect against such trivial injuries. It simply wouldn't do for a first-year to be sent to the hospital wing with a nasty splinter.

Other spells were crucial for a class expertizing in defensive magic. Theseus had more than once flipped over another student and spiralled headfirst into the nearest solid object. The correct cushioning spells were in place, the light fixings were warded to repel flying objects, and while gravity served in the floor's general favor, any fast-propelling students would be caught up an inch from the wood to land with the force of a floppy pillow. The windows were shielded to prevent sharded glass, and faint wavering around the bookshelves indicated that the contents would hold in place should a spell go awry. Dumbledore guarded his students well.

The professor's lecture was as enlivening as Theseus remembered. Somehow the simplest spells seemed exotic - the sort that gave one visions of heroism and grand quests to halt evil in its tracks. Most of the students had stopped taking notes to stare open-mouthed at the professor's demonstration. Quickly Theseus jotted notes on the form, dictation, and expression of the spell. A wizard's skill was exemplified by his teaching, and one could not afford a shoddy professor when the future's aurors would graduate from this class.

As he expected, there was little to critique in Dumbledore's example, although Theseus could have argued that he was more flamboyant in his gestures than necessary. Spell-casting was regarded as a technique, not a dance.

Making his way to the foremost corner of the class, Theseus looked over the top of his clipboard at the students. Immediately he singled out the bowed dark head in the second row. He could imagine Leta's flowing script, identified by her fine upbringing, jagged with undertones of injustice. It was odd to see her as a child, for though he knew she would become his world one day, he could hardly associate the passion with which he had regarded her. It was fondness that filled his heart as he watched her, sitting just far enough to distance herself from her classmates without appearing to be unsocial, hovering over her notes with the possessive rapture of one unlocking a vault of precious stones. Another book peeked out from beneath her textbook. Curious, Theseus filed away that information. He knew that Leta had an unsolicited past, but he never considered that she might have demonstrated a sneaky streak of her own. No wonder Newt got along with her so well.

Speaking of the little deviant, Newton was fervently batting his wand, attentive now that Big Brother was watching the class. His expression was so determined as he flapped his hand, spraying red sparks until the two students in front of him agitatedly scooted away, that it was easy to recall a haggard, meticulous younger brother who insisted on sorting through menial texts when the only manuscript required was in the possession of an unknown vandalizer.

Caught up in dodging cascades of red sparks _(Potential Fire_ _Hazard,_ Theseus jotted down), and observing the students' execution of the _Vermillious_ spells in order to judge the expertise of the professor, Theseus was rather disappointed when the bell tolled and class was dismissed. Newton cast him a hopeful glance, as though to plead, _See, I didn't goof off once!_ and - much to Theseus' surprise - Leta studied him curiously before trotting to catch up with Newton. He saw them whispering intensely as they hustled from the room.

"Anything to declare?" Dumbledore asked, wiping the board clean with a sweep of his wand. "Fifth years are next if you want to see some professional spells in action."

"I think I've garnered enough," Theseus said decisively. "You'll hear from me when I've finalized my report."

"Tell me," Dumbledore goaded, leaning against his desk with a vague expression of delight, "How many official inspectors keep close tabs on the second-years?"

Theseus scribbled _Free of Pests_ in the notes section of his form.

"You're here for Newt, aren't you?" Dumbledore said kindly. "I've noticed a change in him this year. He's extremely loyal. I wouldn't be surprised if he's taken a few marks for a friend."

"A few marks?" Theseus replied. "Professor McGonagall tells me he's disruptive in class."

"I'm not that surprised," Dumbledore allowed. "It seems to run in the Scamander family. You were quite a scamp in your early years."

"I hid it better," Theseus admitted. _Newt won't, and that's why he'll never make it._ "He won't mind his studies. I can't make him understand the importance of his education.

"Newt isn't like you, or your parents," Dumbledore said. "He's a dreamer - a creator. You expect him to treat magic like a business: rules and legislations and lines that can never be crossed. I see Newt as taking a freeform approach. He'll get there, the same as the other students. Just not in the way you might expect."

"He won't achieve anything if he's expelled," Theseus blurted before he could stop himself.

Sharp eyes narrowed calculatively as Dumbledore absorbed his statement. "Tell me about your friend," he said. "Mister Caecilian. Is he a relative?"

"Third-cousin," Theseus said shortly. There was no point in denying the resemblance between the magizoologist and young Newton.

"Not a name that I recognize," Dumbledore pointed out. "Where did he finish his schooling?"

"He … wasn't … traditional," Theseus said carefully. "Most of his experience was learned on the field."

"Then what are you so concerned about?" Dumbledore prompted. "Newt isn't a traditionalist. He doesn't reason in an orderly fashion like one would expect from a desk clerk or a teller. If he wanted to be a street magician or a magizoologist, would you stop him?"

Intrigued, Theseus questioned wryly, "Why a magizoologist?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "He likes animals. I've seen his drawings. He'll pick up any book about them - no matter how advanced. I think he would do well to study something in his interest."

A curious assessment, considering that Newt hadn't chanced upon the career until he finally slid his way into the Beasts Department at the Ministry. What else did Dumbledore see in his brother?

"And what if such an interest endangered him?" Theseus queried. "What if his inexperience forced him into harm's way?"

"Is an auror's life any more secure?" Dumbledore countered. "Tell me, Theseus: are you concerned about your brother's safety, or your family's honor."

Such blatancy deserved no reply. Theseus drew himself up and muttered his regards, excusing himself as the first fifth-years straggled through the door. This wasn't about the family. It had _never_ been about the Scamander name. Newt was his responsibility, more so now that the past seemed to hinge on one precarious term. His safety was tied to Grindelwald's defeat.

Theseus knew he couldn't alter the path set before them, but wasn't it a steward's duty to coax the errant one away from his foolish tendencies, and protect him from eventual disgrace?

* * *

"Prance about as you like: I know the Ministry will snoop about with or without my approval."

Practically ancient, a headmaster once himself, and perhaps the most venerated professor of the last century, Vindictus Viridian gave a weary sigh as he waved aside Theseus' introduction. "I know why you're here," he said, sorting through a pebbly heap of bezoars, mistletoe berries, dried plant matter, whole pods, and glass shards. "I remember three generations of Scamanders. I taught you your first Forgetfulness Potion - don't bother, you'll never remember it. It's the young that always see fit to criticize their molders."

"I thought there were wards around the classrooms to prevent pest infestations," Theseus said, bending to eye an ovular jar, where a peevish black niffler was bounding off the magically warded glass.

"This is a classroom, not an asylum!" Viridian protested. "I have children pawing through my cabinets for potions ingredients. Have you ever sutured missing fingers after some of these 'pest control' spells from the Ministry go awry?"

"I was merely stating that - "

"Don't bother citing regulations around me, Boy. I'm a hundred years older than you are. Hand me that cauldron."

Survival instinct persevered over comeuppance. One simply did not dither about with Professor Viridian. Setting the cauldron on the table, Theseus watched as the glass shards were swept into the charred maw and instantly melted under a heating charm. He chose not to point out that the crusted interior was another infarction of safety procedures - residue in a cauldron always counted as a variable in the ingredients.

"Nasty little beasts," Viridian muttered, levitating the molten glass in thin streams to mold it mid-air into vials and jars. "It's never pixies or doxies that do in a classroom. I've lost more knives and unicorn horns thanks to these insatiable pests, but I finally got this one in the middle of its pinching. Ha! Where's that confounded pest controller. I thought he'd be collecting this groveller by now. He said something about not killing the ungrateful urchins - and I don't mean the sixth-years."

The centuries hadn't eclipsed the old man's sense of humor. Many previous students bemoaned Professor Black's succession after Viridian semi-retired. All good headmasters had their time, however, and once Viridian stepped down he refused to take up the mantel a second time.

"No satiric jeers for my classroom?" Viridian commented airily. "No droning on about Ministry regulations? Take a look around you, Boy! Don't waste time. I've a score of infarctions to keep your secretaries busy for days!"

"Yes, there's certainly an enough to keep them occupied," Theseus granted. Unlabeled jars and vials, mingled ingredients shoveled together by careless students rushing out of class, pods and crumbled herbs littering the floorboards, half-melted cauldrons sitting on a shelf, waiting to be scrubbed and repaired, spare potions books for all grades in countless editions, stained and torn and sludged after generations of setting beside a bubbling cauldron.

"But you're not here to caterwaul about my shoddy classroom ethics," Viridian asserted. "You have something more pressing on your mind. Something that requires an empty classroom and an old potions master with nothing but time on his hands. Here. Make yourself useful: put the bezoars in the basket to your right, and the mistletoe berries in that little jar beside it."

"I've been tracking Newt's progress," Theseus said, following Viridian's example of hand-picking the salvageable ingredients from the rubbish. "He seems distracted."

"Young Newton is a woolgatherer," Viridian stated. "He melted his first cauldron during the second week of Potions. I dread teaching him beyond fourth year."

Then it was as disturbing as he feared. "I've spoken strongly with him about such whimsical tendencies," Theseus assured.

"But you're still afraid it will be for naught," Viridian concluded, plopping a shard of unicorn horn into a stone bowl. "Not every wizard completes his schooling. Tea caterers, broom sellers, pest controllers…. They all find their place eventually. You have higher aspirations for your brother."

"He can be more," Theseus insisted. "He's talented, inventive…."

"And a tad unorthodox," Viridian surmised. "I took the liberty of speaking with his parents this past summer. Word must have reached your office. Given your responsibility as the elder sibling, you've taken it upon yourself to oversee his education - as you should."

"Is it right?" Theseus pondered. "Taking his fate into my own hands? Deciding his future?"

"Let me ask the questions," Viridian retorted. "Is your motive to act in your brother's best interests?"

"Of course," Theseus said immediately. "I've always - "

"A simple yes or no will suffice," Viridian interrupted. "Do you understand that, once seventeen, a wizard may choose his own path regardless of his familial obligations?"

"Yes," Theseus answered heavily. Despite the protests from every aunt and uncle and second-cousin, Newt had infallibly wandered after his fallout from school. A shameful route, their father used to say.

 _You were always lonely afterwards, despite my efforts._

"And do you judge by logic, sense and good reason - not by emotion - that the course you desire for your brother will result in his good fortune, whether he understands its purpose or not?"

"Unquestionably." The word leapt from Theseus' tongue, and with the admission a glow of certainty ignited in his soul. "I'd do anything for him."

Somberly Viridian nodded. "Then there are no variables left to ponder. You must do what you feel is right, and accept whatever tomorrow brings."


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you to** **SomeRandomHuman001, LaughUrHeartOut, and LenaLove95 for reviewing! No chocolate coins this round, but I have some milky way midnights and almond roca in my niffler-free candy stash...?**

* * *

 _Thursday, March 10, 1910_

* * *

Whatever tomorrow brings.

The statement thrummed in Theseus' mind, bombarding him anew despite every argument he contrived, against every distraction he made to avoid the temptation. With the restricted section exhausted he plunged into the nuances of the unguarded library, searching for the means to drag Newt home at once and save them both from his own wavering determination. He was not to interfere. He had sworn to Dumbledore that nothing in the past would be altered, on his honor.

Who could dither about changing the past, however, when a respected and wise wizard suggested that one so malleable as a child should be guided for his own preservation?

"What is that even supposed to mean?" Theseus snarled quietly. " _Accept what tomorrow brings_. Am I expected to risk it all and lose everything again? Accept that Paris cannot be changed?" Vexing, dodgy old wizards and their ponderous statements. Though he could have no clear answer without revealing the true agenda behind his visit, he would have prefered a dour warning or even an upturned snout. Former headmasters weren't supposed to agree with their presumptuous students. It was for the young to question and the elders to scoot them off in the right direction. Viridian should have settled the matter that Theseus _wasn't_ to interfere at all. Day by day, his resolve was crumbling, and here he had accused _Newt_ of tampering with the past.

"What are you looking for?"

Only a lifetime of sneaking up on his fellow wizards clamped down any startled response as Theseus turned about to face the child. He quite nearly dropped a copy of _Why I Didn't Die When the Augurey Cried._ Cynical even as a second-year, Leta raised one cool eyebrow and repeated her question.

"Why would you want a book from the library?"

"Checking for... pixies," Theseus said auspiciously. "Ever seen a flock of pixies tear through a library?"

Solemnly Leta shook her head.

"Well," Theseus said, dramatically clapping the book shut and sliding it back onto the shelf, "The first thing one looks for is torn covers. Missing pages, creases in the spine, scattering of shredded paper... You wouldn't happen to have seen any cheeky blue imps fluttering around the library, would you?"

Leta's eyes widened marginally and she looked poised to flee. Merlin, he really was terrible with children.

Theseus sighed. "Don't mind me," he said, waving her on. "My brother has lost a book and..." There, he'd done it again. Referring to Newt when he'd forgotten there was a second-year copy rampaging around the castle. Well, what better place to be scouting for a _children's textbook_ than in the unrestricted section.

"What book?" Leta asked dubiously, already glancing over the titles.

Hesitating, for it would be unusual for an underage witch to be inquiring about _Blood Bonds and Boundaries_ , Theseus said vaguely, "He didn't give me the title. It is missing a few pages, though. I told him that I would look for anything out of place while I was inspecting the library."

"You're a funny inspector," Leta told him in a tone that implied 'funny' wasn't a compliment. "Bryant said the last inspector who was here came when he was in second-year. He was an old stooge with a pair of pointy spectacles and a thick ledger book that he huffed over every time a student dipped a quill."

"That's a Slytherin outlook for you," Theseus said without thinking. Cursing softly, he flipped over a copy of _You and Your Owl_ and plopped it back onto the shelf. He and Leta had often expressed that former houses meant nothing after one graduated. He forgot how rigidly the old stereotypes clutched this monastery.

Leta surprised him by passing over the comment without the slightest indignant scowl. "You're not like Newt described," she noted, carefully reorganizing several additions of _The Tales of Beetle the Bard._

"Oh? ... How so?" Theseus asked cautiously.

The girl shrugged. "You look old," she stated. "Like you work behind a desk all day. Newt said you used to play Quidditch with him."

He'd forgotten all about that. Leafing through a rather badly stamped on copy of _The Toadstool Tales_ , Theseus inquired, "And what else did he say?"

"That he couldn't wait until school was finished for the summer," Leta said pragmatically. Satisfied with her arrangement of _The Tales of Beetle the Bard_ , she moved down to the next shelf. "He said you'd be less stodgy then."

Though he voiced nothing, the comment wrenched something inside Theseus. Was this how his brother viewed him? Stuffy and grandiose, with little time for trivial nonsense? Small wonder the inspector facade had fooled everyone so perfectly!

Was he too autocratic for Newt to confide in him?

"What if I am a grumpy old man?" Theseus said mildly. "What would you suggest I do to reprieve my dull nature?"

"What's Artemis like?" Leta interjected, whirling him into another line of interrogation without any closure. "Newt's been talking about him nonstop. He says you know him."

Of course. Bring _Artemis_ into the mixture and all of a sudden the little animal lover couldn't get enough information. Was it possible to envy one's brother his own attention? Grimacing at the absurd thought, Theseus said as mundanely as possible, "He's a pest wrangler for the Ministry."

"He sounds nice."

"I'm sure." By Merlin's spangly blue robe, if Leta began crushing on his brother thanks to _Artemis'_ influence, Theseus might well strangle his brother upon their return.

"Will he let me visit sometime?"

No. They'd already been through this. Little Newton was not allowed to reenter the case, therefore Leta was barred completely. By no means was she going to spend her life travelling the world with a _magizoologist_.

"Mister Scamander doesn't accommodate visitors," Theseus mumbled. Blinking out of his envious conundrum, he hastily amended, "Caecilian. Mister Caecilian."

Leta cast him a droll look.

Before Theseus could appear any more of a fool, a blur of ginger curls and yellow tie bombarded into the room. "Theseus! What are you doing here? I thought you said you'd be checking the lake for red algae today. Are you inspecting the library? Can I help?"

Ill-prepared for the hurricane that was his brother released from his last class, Theseus plonked the last tear-stained, gnawed copy of _The Toadstool Tales_ back onto the shelf, bypassing _The Tales of Beetle the Bard_ altogether. "Actually, I was just finishing," he said feebly. "Thank you for your assistance, Leta."

The compliment was intended to bolster her jaded confidence. Theseus didn't anticipate the jealous scowl that flitted across Newton's expression.

"Is that it for today, then?" Newton pleaded. "Gryffindor's practicing outside and I want to watch. Will you come, too? Lewis said her brother told her you always strategized with the Hufflepuff team after watching the others practice. Can't you give me some pointers to pass on to them? You've been working all week, Theseus! Can't you just take an hour off?"

What was he supposed to say? Could one impression in the right moment influence a young man forever? It was a dreadful burden to comprehend. Hoping that he was making the right call, Theseus crouched to his brother's level and suggested softly, "What about your homework, Newt?"

Apprehension flooded hopeful eyes. "But tomorrow's Friday," Newton pleaded. "I don't have to finish anything important before the weekend."

"Responsibility comes first, Newt," Theseus coaxed. _Try to understand. I'm trying to help you._ "Now run off and finish your studies. I'll go with you tomorrow."

"You always say that!" Newton protested. He shot a glare at Leta, and for an instant Theseus glimpsed a spark of antagonism dimmed only by a shimmering wall.

He didn't need to ask Newt to translate for his younger self. _You can spend time with her, but not with me?_ An hour of his time. Surely it wasn't too much to ask. Just one hour to reassure Newton that he was still here for him.

When was the last time he had taken that time? Played hooky, left the Ministry behind for a day, done something jovial simply because he _could?_

When was the last time he had put everything aside and simply watched a game with his brother?

Bother it all. Research meant nothing if it meant he and Newt remained estranged in the future. He would rather have his brother at his side than victory over a thousand wizards. Clapping the boy's shoulder, Theseus quirked a smile and whispered, "Go on. I'll meet you outside."

Wonder and gratitude burst into murky hazel, lighting them a startling green that Theseus had almost forgotten. He remembered nostalgically how rapturous those young eyes looked when Newt was merely a child, waving a stick about the house and holding his older brother's books upside down as he pretended to read them. How long had it been since he had seen such adoration from his brother?

How easily he had almost quenched it.

Elated at the chance to witness a snatch of childhood return, Theseus looked back at Leta and inclined his head towards the door. "Would you care to join us?"

Distrustful, ever wavering, the complete opposite of Newton, Leta wound her hands tightly behind her back and shook her head. Though disappointed, Theseus didn't blame her. She was as fortified and independent as a child as she would be ten years from now, and he would not encroach on her solitude. Newt had always been impressionable, even when he balked at Theseus' approach. Leta would not be chased, and he had found it wisest to respect her from afar, waiting for her to draw close to him.

Waving in nostalgic farewell, Theseus slipped out of the library to chase down his brother.

* * *

The Come-and-Go room. That's what the house elves called it when Newt first chanced upon it in his fourth year. He couldn't remember what he had been looking for - just someplace to hide, to be left alone for a few hours - and the door had appeared in that long stretch of hall, ushering him into a room full of trinkets and curiosities and books that he'd never seen in the library. Many dreary days of rain had been spent in this very room, imagining a world far away from Scotland.

It was just the sort of place where someone would hide a forbidden book. Carefully shifting through a cluster of tarnished silver, wax jewelry and musty dress robes piled in the base of a wardrobe, Newt brushed aside a cluster of feathers that might have been a duster or a peculiar hat and slid out a thin, hand-stitched book. Gently wiping dust from the cover, he squinted at the faded gold lettering. Diary of Duchess-Complains-Incessantly, wife of Sir-Obnoxious-Pure-Blood. That had to make twenty-odd diaries he'd found in the last few hours.

Scanning the towers of bookcases, bins and umbrella barrels about him, many of which he'd scavenged through already, countless more untouched in every direction, Newt acknowledged the futility of his search. He could be here for weeks rummaging about and scarcely would see a tenth of the room's contents.

" _Accio, Blood Bonds and Boundaries_ ," he said softly. His wand hummed faintly and fell cold. Either the book wasn't here, or spells simply didn't respond with so many magical artifacts in one place.

Thoughtfully he fingered the smooth reed, flicking it experimentally. Ever since he had spelled his own wand it had felt out of tune, as though it questioned its very character. A wand grew with its wizard. How stupid he was for breaching that gap without a thought as to the consequences.

Bracing his wand firmly, Newt tried again. " _Accio, Blood Bonds and Boundaries_."

Not even a rattle. Admitting defeat, Newt returned the wand to his back pocket. He couldn't spare any more time today. Theseus was right; he would've been a simpleton to travel back alone. Theseus was the organized one; the one who never dallied or got turned about on his mission. He'd been hard at work while Newt was hard-kept just to keep track of the animals.

Merlin, what was he doing here? He promised Jacob he would find a way to save Queenie, and now he was standing in the middle of an impossible room bemoaning his damaged wand. Well, there was nothing to be done for that now. They had but one chance to exploit Grindelwald's weakness and he was wasting time.

Lunging over the stack of books he'd carelessly stacked in the only entrance to the alcove of wardrobe and cabinets, Newt wound through the maze of clutter and paused before the door, brushing off his suit in a paltry attempt at orderliness. Dark clothing was more practical, he admitted. Something in brown tweed would have shown less dirt. Brown was less cheery, however, and not something one wanted to wear on a rainy day. Besides, the most intelligent and dangerous animals were always dressed to stand out. It was a warning, much like the zouwu's scarlet plumage: _may breathe flames or respond with antagonistic magic if provoked_.

Theseus never seemed to grasp the correlation.

Looking both ways as was old habit, Newt opened the door just enough to slide through and shut it with no more than a muted click. Even if he was a grown man, the fewer students who knew about this room, the better. The inscription on the door had just faded when trampling feet echoed down the corridor: a child's scamper and the clomping, long-legged stride that he would have recognized even under a polyjuice disguise.

"Merlin's beard," Newt cursed softly, sidling closer to the wall as the great Lummox himself rounded the corner, almost wheezing as young Newton clattered behind him, red-faced in his effort to keep up with his brother. He meant to slip past them, unnoticed in the frolic, but the pounding in his head sifted down to his chest: a dull, agonizing throb that held him in place.

They were laughing. Tagging one another and leaping about, yipping and calling petty insults and practically somersaulting in the attempt to gain the lead and claim victory. Theseus was behaving as silly and gregarious as a child himself. Newt couldn't remember _ever_ seeing him so engaged.

 _It's polyjuice,_ he told himself, not because it seemed out of character for his brother, but because it couldn't possibly be Theseus at all. Older Brother hadn't left the Ministry cloak behind since... since... _Merlin, why can't I remember?_ Fourth year? Second year? Was it earlier than that when Theseus stopped coming home for Christmas, and one day stopped writing entirely except for the occasional business envelope at the end of term, whereupon after several menial comments about the weather and the latest drama at the office he would ask _how_ Newt was floundering to pass his exams again?

There was one thick envelope sent home after sixth year. Newt had been too ashamed to break the seal and had thrown it into the hearth. Along with all of his brother's letters after that.

The shrill giggles and merry comments were like a dream. A bad dream. The sort that left one wanting and nostalgic when he wakes. Ducking past the rompers, Newt tried to slip away unseen, willing himself to blend into the wall.

He should have worn tweed. Muddy colors were always best when one wanted to disappear.

"Newt!" Startled, Theseus broke away from the tussle, tramping after him in his clumsy, clopping shoes. "I mean, _Artemis!_ Where on earth did you come from? I thought you were rounding up the nifflers in the dungeons."

"Yes, that is my job, isn't it?" Newt answered, struggling to keep his voice level. He must have failed, for Theseus looked fairly accosted as he looked between the dirt-smeared second-year and the equally filthy dropout.

"Oh, don't look so scandalized," Theseus coaxed, folding his arms in that vexing stance of _'Obviously **I** know what I'm doing.' _"It was one afternoon. You used to enjoy it when I commentated on the Quidditch practices with you!"

"Not at school." Or was it at school? No, Theseus never had time to visit except on holidays, but he _was there_ at some point, some radiant afternoon that seemed all the less cloudy and forlorn because - "No, no, it's all wrong. You never visited while I was at Hogwarts, Theseus. You can't implant memories in his head that don't belong!"

Loosening his stance to adopt the all too familiar 'something's wrong let me fix you' expression, Theseus studied him from ear to chin and countered, "There are nifflers running wild. I'm searching the library for a book that was meant to remain hidden. You gave him a personal tour of your case! How am _I_ implanting things that don't belong?"

Scowling at the thirteen-year-old who lingered three feet behind Theseus, Newt implored, "Just leave the children alone. Him, Leta - we're not supposed to be interacting. _Please,_ Theseus."

"I know the rules," Theseus said testily. "But you tell me what's going to happen in your future if I ignore you during the one year I'm stationed at Hogwarts. How betrayed would you feel?"

Gritting his teeth, Newt shoved past his brother. Always the smooth logic and irrevocable argument. He couldn't convince Theseus that he hadn't sparked his own expulsion in sixth year. Why bother trying to explain himself now.

Clapping a hand to his temples as an invisible knife slid between them, he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the whispering as Theseus coaxed his younger self to scamper back to the common room, no doubt for that extra study time his brother always pressed upon him. He didn't want to think about this right now. He needed to concentrate. He needed to account for the adolescent nifflers that hadn't returned, and that one pudgy adult he'd bartered from a glass dealer before leaving London. He needed to...

Breathing out shakily, Newt threw aside his resolve and turned sharply at the alcove, making his way towards the clock tower. Surely the hospital wing had something non-drowsy that could cure a headache.


	10. Chapter 10

_Friday, March 11, 1910_

* * *

"Today, Students, we will be turning river stones into lily pads."

A rather interesting spell which Theseus remembered from his second year with the previous Transfiguration instructor. Most of his classmates had managed a wad of green mulch during their first attempt. Davey had fainted when his rock turned into a frog, and had been labelled "delinquent genius of the month" by his peers. Theseus had been the fourth student to correctly transfigure his stone, although admittedly it was rather a wilted, yellowing flap of plant life.

The second-years in McGonagall's classroom fared little better. A chorus of disjointed spells and hazardous wand-waving produced mostly bruised elbows from the right-vs-left handers, scattered clacks as rocks were swept onto the floor, and a few exclamations over trifling changes in a stone's appearance. Leta, eyebrows drawn together fiercely in concentration, managed a startling green rock. She'd be one of the first to perfect the spell, Theseus was sure.

Aware that Transfiguration was Newt's previous nightmare, he tried not to let on that he was watching his brother's attempt. The red-faced youngster was already embarrassed enough, flapping his wand around like a butcher knife to the point where he was in grave danger of snagging one of the golden braids of the girl sitting beside him. Rubbing a hand over his face to hold down a chortle, Theseus concentrated on his checklist, which McGonagall had devilishly added to when she discovered he was missing a few important safety concerns.

The required texts were in the correct edition, and for the afternoon's lesson McGonagall had instructed the students to share with another peer if they had an old version of the book. Her demonstration was precise, with no elegant twirling or nonsensical drivel about why one might suddenly feel compelled to turn a quarry into a lily swamp. She knew her business and shared her knowledge with blunt civility. It was a wonder Newton could get away with anything in the class.

Theseus was just about to pass by his brother's table when the little blond witch set down her wand and hissed, "Just stop already."

Positioned nonchalantly behind the two, Theseus looked surreptitiously over his clipboard. He frowned when Newton carefully slid closer to the window, cramming himself in to put three inches more space between himself and the blond. Pertly the girl retrieved her wand, switching it to the other hand so that her left arm wouldn't persistently brushing against Newton's shoulder - if that had been the original problem, given that all of the students were indeed positioned fairly close together. Theseus jotted that down as a classroom hazard: who knew what spells could go awry when small children were blundering into one another.

He strode past the disgruntled pair and continued on his menial round, snatching a rock that had somehow rebounded off the table and was headed on a direct trajectory towards a frail window. Passing it to the sheepish ginger boy, he wondered idly if that window was meant to shatter and if some drastic occurrence would never take place without that smither of particled glass.

Probably not. McGonagall would simply have patched it together with a _Reparo._ If anything Theseus had saved the student from having to run outside for another rock.

He continued patrolling the classroom, utterly bored, watching one student after another manage a floppy piece of plant matter. To his amusement, Leta's final attempt resulted in a rather jagged and squashed-looking cabbage leaf. He had been so sure she would be a remarkable student in her early years, but it seemed that every fine witch had one point or another where they had to learn from scratch. Newton was no better off - after a last grumbled spell he stared dismally at a spectacularly flattened rock.

At length McGonagall admitted the necessity of weekend practice and a follow-up lesson on Monday. By the time class was dismissed Theseus was quite nearly prepared to sketch some of the animals caged in the room so that he could take them down to Newt and challenge his knowledge of absurd reptiles. During his younger days he used to imagine advanced time travel allowing one to restart his education with a finer mind. Now he accepted that childhood education - crucial to life's success or not - was frightfully dull. It was only natural that Newton would be more excited about Professor Dumbledore's class, where at least the lessons were more likely to have one catapulted across the room.

He meant to conclude his report with Professor McGonagall, but a chipper second-year who was free of his classes bolted out of his chair, shoving aside another classmate to meet him first.

"Are you finished now, Theseus?" Newton asked, nearly dropping his textbook in his attempt to gather the assignments fluttering from between the pages. "Can we go to the owlery? I want to show you the owl Mother sent me after Flippet flew into a tree. It's a short-eared owl. He's incredibly fast, and he's nicer looking than Flippet, although I still miss her, but I named this one Hereward. I would've sent him to Paris to bring you a letter but then I found out you were here instead."

"Indeed," Theseus grunted, making a mental note to regulate the second-year's mail for the rest of the term. Any letters containing information about Theseus' surprise visit to Hogwarts would simply have to be rewritten by Newt, with hopes that their parents wouldn't notice a difference in the handwriting. As for Theseus in Paris, well, he was going to have a lonely spring wondering if his letters to his brother had been received. Theseus would speak to the headmaster about bypassing the owl and delivering the letters to Newton after both time-travellers had left for their own period. _How on earth am I going to explain my simultaneous excursion to France_ , Theseus wondered. He really should have considered his habitual communications to the family.

"Will you come, then?" Newton prodded, trying to drag Theseus towards the door. "Classes are over for the day. There can't much else to inspect here."

"Actually, I do have a few questions for Professor McGonagall," Theseus said. Newton's face went ghostlike and he added hastily, "Just about the forms. Oh, go on up to the owlery. I'll meet you there."

Exhaling shakily, the second-year managed a smile and bounded away, his robes a disgraceful two inches short. That boy was a never-ending growth spurt.

Turning back to the professor, Theseus dodged another pelting second-year and held out the clipboard, declaring, "Just a signature, Ma'am. You'll hear the results when I send in my report."

"Indeed, Mister Scamander," McGonagall said, raising one lithe eyebrow at his austere ploy. "You're sure you have nothing further to say? I expected a more critical session. Or do pressing duties call you away?"

Newton. Of course the wiley woman knew. Sheepishly retrieving his papers, Theseus asked, "Has he been behaving himself?"

"In the matter of concentration, or practical jokes on his fellow students?" Casting Theseus a dour look, McGonagall said drolly, "Perhaps your influence will help convince Newton of the imperativeness of his studies. In all of my experience in Transfiguration, I've never seen a student use that spell to expertly flatten a stone. We're transfiguring animals into water goblets next week. Pray that something doesn't happen to his owl - again."

Flummoxed, Theseus turned that thought in his head as McGonagall helped the last, lingering second-year collect her books and papers. "But he said it flew into a tree..."

Merlin, how on _earth_ had that nincompoop succeeded as a magizoologist?

* * *

Soft hoots and sleepy shrieks. Fluttering of strong wings. Drifting feathers, sun-warmed sawdust, and the overhanging smell of bird droppings that magic simply couldn't keep at bay.

Theseus never liked the owlery.

Here it was that Newton liked to hang out, apparently, for the boy was contentedly slouched at the window, his arms folded across the sill, looking all of twenty-six and thirteen as the wind ruffled his suntouched curls. _Were you ever lonely?_ Theseus pondered, pausing in the eave to study that young face blossoming with imagination and wonder. _You were always so lively; so confident about your adventures. I knew you would do well in school. But why waste your time up here when there's a whole summer ahead of you? All the letters you'll have to write then... Where are your friends right now?_

Turning suddenly, as though hearing his brother's thoughts, Newton squinted into the dim alcove and grinned. "I knew you'd come!" he cheered, pelting the short distance between them and scattering half the flock of dazed owls. Grunting as small arms tore the breath from his body, Theseus grimaced a smile and clapped the boy's shoulder. "Yeah. I'm here. What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Nothing," Newton said, letting go and stepping back with the proud satisfaction of a young man who had chased down a World Cup seeker and wanted to bask in the acknowledgment of the press. "I just wanted to talk."

"Ah." Now that was illuminating in its own right. Newt never spoke with deliberate intent. Oh, he'd filled the world with cooing and babbling since five minutes after his birth, but he'd never stopped to ask permission. A Newt who wanted to _talk_ was dead set to change his world. "All right," Theseus said, ambling over to the spacious window and leaning against it. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know," the second-year answered, giving a lop-sided shrug. "What about you? Why didn't you go to France? You always wanted to see Paris."

"Out of sight and mind, eh, Dumbledore?" Theseus mumbled. Breathing deeply to cleanse the rookery stench with pine-tinted air, he contemplated his answer. "I was assigned here instead. The Ministry wanted an investigator to look into the niffler infestation."

"That's what you said before," Newton stated. "Why didn't you ask them to send you somewhere else?"

"Mm, can't," Theseus said, smiling as he remembered those old days. Dashing about in his squeaky, too-tight polished shoes, answering to every two-pint wizard who wanted his or her name in the papers, doing the grunge work because no one else wanted to get their hands dirty. "When you work for the Ministry, you go where they assign you."

"I'd hate to work there," Newton said, crinkling his nose.

There it was. The moment Viridian spoke of. That turning point where he might be the influence his brother needed.

"Why not?" Theseus asked lightly, aware that this was information that Newt would never have meted out had he been in his own century. "Why don't you like the Ministry?"

"It's not the Ministry," Newton backtracked, looking apologetic while still mildly disdainful of his brother's career. "I know you work there, so it can't be all that bad."

"It's an excellent operation," Theseus said, looking out across acres of Scotland's green hills. Perhaps a cold, austere building could never compare to the silence of a warm afternoon, but without aurors such peace would not exist. "Everyone has their place, Newton. Even the file clerks keep track of criminal records and animagus registration. There's no department without its purpose."

"I would hate it," Newton said, his voice taking on such a savage edge that he could have been a four-year-old refusing to eat fish. "How can you stand being locked up in there all day, stuck at a desk until they make you go somewhere you don't like? I'd much rather be looking after animals."

"It may be something you like, but it's not really practical, is it?" Theseus countered. Upon Newton's disheartened sigh he embellished, "Even Mister Caecilian has to answer to the Ministry as part of the Pest Advisory Board. Think about how much paperwork that requires." Come to think of it, Newt's forms had always been a few weeks late when he worked in the Beasts department. "If you finish your schooling well - brush up on those DADA classes - you won't even have to stay at a desk for long. You could be an auror."

Newton snickered, his wide eyes reflecting his hopes that Theseus was only teasing. "You always say that. Mum wasn't ever an auror. I could train hippogriffs like she does."

Yes, train hippogriffs, or dragons, or a hundred terrible beasts that could tear him to pieces at the first indication of weakness. Alpha predators always slaughtered the leader who was unfit to subdue the pack. "You won't be able to do anything if you don't excel in your studies," Theseus admonished.

Abashed, Newton ran his finger along the grooves of the sill. "I'm trying harder," he said softly. "I didn't even sit by Leta so I wouldn't get in trouble."

"Leta?" Failing to concentrate was a bad habit. Blame shifting was a deliberate malediction conceived with the intention of reprieving oneself of any fault. "This is about _your_ schooling, not your classmate's," Theseus corrected.

"But I didn't - "

 _"_ Newt." Closing his eyes, Theseus held back the lecture he _wanted_ to give, reminding himself that Newton had invited him up here to talk, not to hear a lecture. Forcing a jovial smile, he rerouted the conversation to its original intent. "Nevermind that. I'm sorry I brought it up. I am concerned about your studies, though - not that you aren't trying," he assured, waving aside Newton's flustered retort, "But have you considered the reality of your objective? Do you know that wizards in the Beast department barely make two sickles a week? How can you support yourself on that?"

 _How indeed, when you wouldn't even let me help you? No contact, no acknowledgment, and we were in the same building for years. You and that stubborn pride - too determined to make it on your own to accept a single knut from your brother._

What he wouldn't give to glaze over those difficult years and give Newt a second opportunity to make things right. If only he could understand the extraordinary days ahead - any division or career, as many books as he wanted to write, all right at the tip of his wand - if only he could learn to be patient in the moment. "Your chance will come," Theseus swore, coaxing the disgruntled second-year to meet his eyes. "You have to make the most of it while you're here, Newt. Just finish your schooling. Do well in the responsibility you have here, and one day you'll be able to do anything you like and you'll be ready for it. Can't you trust me on this?"

Sighing laboriously, Newton ducked against him, flapping Theseus' arm back and forth around him in a limp sort of hug. "Can I still study dragons if I'm an auror?"

Laughing, Theseus snatched up the little scamp and toss him over his shoulder, spinning about as Newton shrieked. Depositing the brash second-year in the doorway, he clapped the boy's shoulders and promised, "Ukranian Ironbellies. One of these days, Newt. Just... pay attention to what you have now."

"Can you help me with my Transfiguration homework, then?" Newton pitched in, grabbing for his chance before Theseus could busy himself elsewhere. "I'll have to write another paper if I botch it up."

Giddiness filled Theseus as he pulled the boy into a quick hug. At last he was getting through to him. "Come on then," he said, darting ahead to reach the stairwell first. "I know just the trick for it. Did I ever tell you that my first attempt at sediment-to-sentient transfiguration resulted in a hideous yellow pond swab?"

* * *

 **Thank you to Astro, LaughUrHeartOut, SomeRandomHuman001, and Mordmil for reviewing!**


	11. Chapter 11

_Saturday, March 12, 1910_

* * *

Theseus had never dropped by the night before. Despite his pestering, Newt had gotten used to him swinging down like a baboon, needling him with questions and variables and impossible 'What if?' scenarios. Granted, Theseus was head auror and anticipating misfortune was necessary in his department, but Newt sometimes wondered if the stress of the war had boiled down his brain until all he could recollect was lists and factions and organizations and countless treaties. When he thought his brother's soul might well have been lost in the battle, Leta had brought out that affectionate side of him, reawakening the social deviant that the Ministry had rejoiced to be rid of. With her death so recent on Theseus' mind, Newt was astonished he hadn't fallen back into old habits.

It should have been a relief to see him scuttling about like an old miser reliving his boyhood. There was absolutely no sense in taking it personally - particularly when Newt was, in a sense, the cause of his brother's laughter. Yet the image didn't fit. Perhaps it was the simple fact that Theseus had never been here, and therefore the imprints on time couldn't be trusted. Perhaps it was the aching doubt as he wondered it he could have been so happy at Hogwarts.

If Newt was honest with himself, he might venture to say that it was because Theseus never confided in him - not before he left for Paris, and certainly not after Leta was lost. Seeing his younger self return that easy jaunt to his brother's stride brought a curious anger upon him. He wasn't sure whether to direct it at his brother for choosing sides, or himself for growing up in the first place. Now there was a conflict in spirit that would make the Sorting Hat chew off its brim.

"People are odd creatures," Newt murmured, crouching to let down Pudsey the Third. The First. Most definitely Pudsey the First. He'd never given a niffler such a peculiar name, and he wasn't going to fortify the impression that his younger self could whimsically tweak his memories. Prodding the black and white niffler forward, he watched it scuttle until it vanished behind an empty portrait.

"I knew it!"

Whirling on his heels, Newt muttered something naughty and held up his hands. "Wait, it's not what you think -"

"I told Theseus it got out again," young Newton declared, "But it was really you all along! Why would you let them go inside the castle? I thought you were supposed to take them outside of Hogwarts."

"I'm not - it's very difficult to explain -" _Think, Newt! What would you believe at this age?_ Tragically, most anything.

"I need Pudsey to find the others," Newt blurted. "Nifflers are clever, you see, and if I let this one go he'll find his way to the pack and I'll catch them all at once."

"I don't believe it," the child said, folding his arms.

Well, perhaps he was smarter in second year than when he was six.

"I'm not releasing it," Newt swore. "I'm going to retrieve it again once it finds its siblings. There are four missing, and their mother."

"You mean the big black one Professor Viridian's got in his classroom?" Newton asked perkily.

Oh. Well, that was one accounted for. Poor Arabella. She just couldn't resist a glass bauble.

"It's absolutely rubbish that you're sending them back into the halls," Newton accused, looking mournfully at the portrait behind which Pudsey the Third had disappeared. "Professor Black hates them - he says he's liable to hire an exterminator."

"Goodness gracious," Newt muttered. "He could've given me a little warning."

"I should tell Professor Dumbledore," Newton said crossly. "Theseus said you're good to the animals, but you're just endangering them, aren't you? If he knew you were sabotaging the school he'd take you right to the Ministry. Well, I caught you bang to rights and I'm going to tell him now!"

"No, wait!" Slapping a palm to his head, Newt gathered his fragmented thoughts and proposed, "You wanted to see them, right? You wanted a chance to take care of the nifflers. If I show you how good they are at tracking one another, will you believe that I'm just doing my job?"

He didn't like the daring gleam in his younger self's eyes. "You promise?" Newton ensured. "You'll show me all your creatures and you won't rush me off just because you're busy?"

"Show you all my..." But that was blackmail! _Merlin, I was more conniving as a child than Theseus gave me credit for_.

"If I don't know they're safe I'm going to report this to the headmaster," the second-year warned.

"You're bluffing," Newt retorted. "You would never go to the headmaster of your own accord; not for a hundred galleons."

Fidgeting uncomfortably, the child blurted, "Well, I would this time! Or I'd tell Professor Dumbledore. He always listens to me."

As lightly as Dumbledore would treat the complaint, Newt really didn't need the rumor going around that the pest controller was infesting Hogwarts for his own personal gain. Gossip was prevalent in a castle filled with talking portraits and ghosts, and too many nasty comments would compel the headmaster to cast him out of Hogwarts.

For the second time.

Theseus would go to spare over that little mischance.

"All right," Newt said, already dreading the explanation he would have to make to Theseus. "Just one afternoon."

"Today's Saturday," Newton suggested. "Can't we go now?"

"No, not now." Was it dangerous to obliviate oneself? He'd just as soon rewrite this entire afternoon. "Tomorrow. I have to prepare the creatures for visitors." Once he had a moment to gather his nerves and hide everything that might indicate his relation to Theseus. "And you're not holding this over my head for the rest of the term."

"Deal." Grinning like a hippogriff full up on ferrets, the boy stuck out his hand for the sealing shake.

Bother it all, this would cross all the stipulations of time travel. Grimacing, Newt grabbed the hand just long enough to acknowledge the gesture and snatched away, stuffing his hand into his pocket. It didn't hurt, if that was any indication of transgression. Although the lights were peeling apart his skull for the second time that day. All the more excuse to make his retreat now. He'd caused enough trouble for one afternoon.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then!" Newton called after him.

Tomorrow. What would he tell Theseus? _Whatever will you tell the headmaster tonight?_ Newt thought drolly. _Weekly updates are part of your contract._

Rubbing both temples, he thought about the potion Madame MacQuoid had suggested to him the day before. Perhaps it was worth a try. One small dose would see him through the afternoon, at least.

He just wished the day was over.

* * *

"If your brother was a genuine employee of the Ministry I'd have him fired," Phineas Black said, glowering at the empty space where a certain silver clock used to terrorize his students. "And you as well. Flaunting your position. Accosting the groundskeeper!"

"I merely challenged the lack of proper warding around the Forbidden Forest," Theseus drawled. "Any student can stroll right in there. Why do they even call it forbidden? It's practically a challenge. We used to dare one another to cross the border without being caught. Why not call it the quicksand forest, or the forest of a thousand pixie swarms? Or the premises on which Beatrix Bloxam wrote _The Toadstool Tales_ \- anyone who strays inside will be forced to sit on a rock and read her stories until they vomit over sappy tales of - "

" _Mister Scamander,_ " Black interrupted tartly, "we do not threaten the students with excursions to the Forbidden Forest. It is _forbidden_." Satisfied that his point had been eloquently delivered, he snatched up a pen and began writing his own list of misfortunes. "Your brother is late. Again. Old habits seem to follow one into the future."

Rather than apologize for Newt's tardiness, Theseus felt rather rankled by the snip. Newt could be slovenish, yes, but lately he'd proven himself in his efforts. Skipping a correspondence update was unlike him.

Perhaps the headaches were keeping him. Willow bark's most common side effect was inducing slumber. Theseus wouldn't be surprised if Newt had nodded over his reading again. _If only you would listen,_ he mused unhappily. _Mother's injuries are slowing her down already, and you're so young. Any more head injuries and what will you lose next? Your sight? Your memory? When does the price become too steep for your beloved creatures?_

"I'm more disturbed by your performance, Mister Scamander," Black said sourly.

Ah, the familiar lecture. Settling back into his chair, Theseus adopted his infallible 'why would I ever cause trouble' expression. "Has my work been inadequate?"

"An understatement," Black huffed. "I've heard complaints from all the staff about your 'inspections.' The ghosts have been accused of loitering, the portraits were pulled out of their frames and inspected for mildew..."

"A valid concern," Theseus interjected.

"The tadpole population was recorded as being 'an insufficient source of sustenance for the water demons,' and the house elves were accused of using inferior spells for laundering quidditch uniforms."

"Truly, the stench of sweat is appalling," Theseus quipped.

"They're all petty, impractical contentions. Your search has proved fruitless for the book - "

"We've had one week," Theseus stressed, bracing himself forward in his chair.

"Ample time," Black snapped. "Only one wizard was required for this quest. Either find a way to occupy yourself outside of the classrooms or scuttle off to your own century."

"Newt still needs my help," Theseus said icily.

"Posh! He volunteered weeks before you showed your hand. If he's too incompetent to find one simple textbook, then he has no business operating for the Ministry. He's an indolent, ungrateful representative of his generation."

A seething sense of calm flooded Theseus' limbs. "That's my brother you're talking about," he warned softly.

How many times other wizards had heard the same words and - too caught up in their jesting to pay heed - had been thrown onto the sidewalks with a bloody nose hex and a bruised ego. For a pleasant moment Theseus fantasized dangling the headmaster outside of the window by his wool-socked toes.

"Regardless," Black said, remarkably unfazed for a man threatened by the Ministry's future head auror, "If the two of you cannot prove the necessity of your operation I'll have you both shipped back to your own decade."

"Forward," Theseus mumbled.

"What was that, Scamander?"

"Understood perfectly, Sir," Theseus said, combining contrite with tart in the faint nasally pitch that had so infuriated Mother. Rising briskly, he slung his coat over his arm and nodded indicatively to the absent clock. "If you'll excuse me, Headmaster, I must take your leave. I have a brother to locate and a lavatory to inspect."

If Phineas Black himself wanted him to demonstrate why a health inspector was a necessity at Hogwarts, who was he to refuse a challenge? There were plenty of means to prolong his stay without even enlisting his greatest asset:

Newt had a cage full of Cornish pixies.

* * *

The case was dark when Theses entered. Artificial night had claimed the terrain, but the animals were far from restful. Trilling squawks, ueasy rumbles, and pawing hooves testified that something had upset the timeless routine. It wasn't difficult to track the source.

"Oh, Newt," Theseus huffed, catching sight of a slumped form. Flicking his wand, he coaxed the lamps to a full blaze and trode softly to the table. Just as he expected. Newt's face was hidden in the shadow of his crossed arms, a niffler snoring against the thatch of curls, an empty teacup beside his elbow.

"How long have you been down here?" Theseus whispered, gently nudging the blue-clad shoulder. Newt snuffled and twitched away, but didn't wake. Theseus grimaced. "How much of that tea did you drink?"

Forgoing all caution, he rocked Newt's shoulder and pulled him out of his bent posture, lightly clapping his face. "Newt. Come on, you old badger. Black will have your hide for being late again."

Blearly hazel eyes were slowly pried open. "Theseus?"

"No more tea," Theseus scolded, scooting the cup away with the back of his hand.

"It's earl grey," Newt mumbled. Eyes practically crossed, he glanced out at the open door and swore, lunging from the chair. "It can't be!"

"Night already," Theseus confirmed, steadying his brother as he nearly propelled himself over the corner of the table. "Why didn't you tell me the headaches were that severe? I would've suggested a restorative draught."

"Madam MacQuoid said it was non-drowsy!" Newt exclaimed, sending a stack of small containers rattling as he fumbled to grab a bucket. "They're all wondering where I've been."

"Newt - _Newt!_ " Theseus called, catching his brother by the arm. "You missed the entire meeting with Black. How long were you asleep?"

Haggard, red eyes looked positively dreadful. Rubbing his sleeve over his face, Newt mumbled, "I was just getting ready... I didn't know it would work that fast."

" _How long?_ "

Cringing, looking far too small slumped in a suit that was tailored to his size for once, Newt admitted, "A quarter to four. But it wasn't intentional, Theseus! I didn't know! Madam MacQuoid promised it was only a mild painkiller. I just took it this afternoon - "

"Newt, Newt," Theseus droned, shaking his head. This was too much. For Newt to forget an appointment was one thing, but he would never neglect feeding time for his little zoo project. Something had to give. Sighing, Theseus made the decision. "I'm pulling you off the mission."

"It won't happen again, I swear. I just need to... What?" Newt breathed.

"You have to quit," Theseus stated dispassionately. He had to keep it together; convince Newt that this was the better way.

"No. No, I can do this, Theseus. Dumbledore sent me - "

"Clearly Dumbledore didn't realize what he was asking," Theseus said firmly. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Newt. You can't process the mission and look after the animals. I'm calling it now. I'll continue the search; you stay here and take care of yourself."

"That's not fair, Theseus," Newt argued, throwing on his coat. "You can't push me off just because of one meeting. I can still - "

"This isn't about _one meeting!_ " Theseus retorted. "You're barely staying on your feet, Newt! I can handle the mission. Your business is right here, in this case, looking after - "

"You don't have to be such a Chinese Fireball," Newt muttered, brushing past him to reach the meat barrel. "I've travelled across the world on my own with worse than a simple headache."

"So now I'm the fire-breathing dragon?" Theseus said, flinging his hands into the air. "Is that what you think of me? I'll just swoop down and burn down your ideals because I work for the Ministry?"

"No! No, that's not what I meant, Theseus!" Scrubbing desperately at his eyes, Newt flung down the bucket, already pulling off his coat against the warm air.

"Then what did you mean?" Theseus retorted. "What could that possibly imply? I'm trying to help you, Newt! Can't you understand that?"

"I've asked you for help and you won't listen!" Newt exclaimed. Dragging his hands through his hair, as though to forcibly calm himself, he continued in a steadier tone, "Every day you spend with me - with younger me, you're setting events that don't exist. Whatever we do here affects the future, Theseus. Can't you see that?"

"Of course I've seen it," Theseus said, the inflection in his tone sharper than he intended. "Would you respond any differently if you saw me as a child? Or Leta? I won't let you grow up thinking I hate you simply because I was an old stooge while you were at Hogwarts."

"Yes, but don't you see?" Newt implored. "Everything we do is affecting every student - every professor. What will people say when you come home from Paris after you've been in Scotland this whole time? You're still in this timeline, Theseus. People will remember when you were here and they'll start asking questions. We should never have interacted with the school."

"That was the entire plan," Theseus snapped. "What about your theory that one of the students has the book? How could we investigate if not by immersing ourselves in the classroom setting? Shall we study to become animagi? That would lose us at least another month."

"That's not the point I was trying to - oh, why won't you just listen!" Lashing out, Newt nailed the meat barrel with one soft-toed shoe and hollered, hopping about as he gripped his bruised toes. Sidestepping around the dropped bucket, Theseus swooped in before Newt could harm himself any further and wrapped his arms around his brother, holding him tightly as he caught his breath.

"Newt. Newt, stop. Just stop. Take a moment to breathe."

He'd quite forgotten the state Newt could work himself into when distraught. Strange how one never quite grew out of his childhood, no matter how many years passed. Once the heaving shoulders calmed and Newt pushed him aside, rubbing his aching head, Theseus snatched up a bucket himself and began doling cold slabs of meat into it.

"Which ones," he said shortly.

Hazel eyes had never looked sharper. Or was it an aching heart Theseus glimpsed for that one fleeting moment before Newt turned his back.

"All of them," Newt answered disjointedly.

"I'll start with the kelpie," Theseus insisted, locating the barrel of raw fish. "We'll meet back here."

He didn't expect Newt to answer. Neither of them knew what to say. The taut silence filled even the gap spreading across the enchanted realm as they took opposite corners and slowly worked their way towards the shed. Only when they were inside once more, washing grease and muck off their hands, and Newt had painstakingly listed off each creature to ensure they had been satiated did Theseus try to broach a conversation.

"Look, tomorrow - "

"I try not to worry about tomorrow," Newt said apathetically. "Makes you suffer twice. I've said it before."

"Newt - "

"Tomorrow, Theseus," Newt begged, bracing a hand against his temple. "Not... not tonight. Let me sleep this off. I'll never take it again."

"Are you going to talk to me about those headaches?" Theseus prodded.

"They won't interfere anymore," Newt said, looking intently into the hearth. "I'll talk to Madam MacQuoid again in the morning." Catching Theseus' lingering glance, he grunted and waved intently at the ladder. "Just go back. I'll be fine."

Fine. Newt would always fine and never once tell him the truth, even if his arm was dangling off at the shoulder. _Where's the little brother who trusted me to right every wrong?_ Theseus thought. _When did you grow up?_

Footsteps heavy, he ascended the ladder and softly closed the case behind him. The surrounding classroom, bare of tables and chairs and brimming with brooms and mops and tangled cobwebs, was a poor chamber to keep Newt's precious case.

Carefully lifting the battered leather valise, Theseus tucked it under his arm and snuck up the stairs to the cramped, joined rooms that had been assigned them by the headmaster. He set the case beside one of the bunks and knocked softly on it, hoping that Newt would understand that the case had been moved and not be disturbed when he opened it to new surroundings. The night was late, a slivered moon barely illuminating the edges of tendrilled clouds. Drawing the curtains against the eerie glow, Theseus toed off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, bracing his head in his hands.

He sat in the dark until the clock tower struck twice, and fell asleep with his hand resting on the solid leather that was his brother's second home.

* * *

 **Thank you to XYZArtemis, SomeRandomHuman001, LaughUrHeartOut, and Astro for reviewing!**


	12. Chapter 12

_Sunday, March 13, 1910_

* * *

A promise to a child was always the hardest to keep, and the most heartbreaking to sever. The consequences of intervention were mounting in Newt's mind, constructing dreadful perceptions of a catalytic sixth year which would destroy his fragile relationship with Theseus forever, or perhaps a future where Theseus would never come home at all. Each worst case scenario pulsed with the beat in his skull as young Newton bounded down the ladder, yelling above him for his small companion to follow.

Of course he would have invited Leta. Preoccupied with keeping the graphorns from startling, Newt didn't even flinch when the Slytherin stood gawking in the doorway of his shabby hut. No need to introduce her to the animals - his younger self was already initiating the tour.

"That over there's an augurey," Newton said, pointing to the greenish bird, which uttered a disinterested squawk before tucking its head under its wing. "And that's a cockatrice."

"How do they all fit?" Leta wondered, looking to the caretaker for a sensible explanation.

"Capacious extremis," Newt said thickly. No sense in being less than a good host now; he'd basically invited the children over himself. "Simple extension charm. The habitats are more complex magic."

"Aren't extension charms difficult?" Leta pointed out. "Rivera said they don't even study them in sixth year."

"Yes, well... private tutoring." And a lot of bungling around on his own. Newt wondered what Leta would have thought if she had seen his case as an adult. Before he had met Tina - before Leta had sashayed over to his generous brother without a thought as to whether Theseus cared more about her smile than her family status and her inheritance - she could've been his most precious visitor. He'd grown up since then.

Leta hadn't yet.

"Leta, look!" Tripping over his weekend play shoes, Newton grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the misting rainforest habitat, where a few sleepy mooncalves were burrowed under a massive log, waiting until the next full moon. "Sorry, it's wet. But look right there. I told you they were real."

"Aren't these better kept in a castle?" Leta stated practically. "Don't you ever run out of room in here?"

"I used to keep a few in my apartment," Newt allowed. Another secret Theseus suspected, but had yet to verify. The Ministry would have loved scouting through that one. "I couldn't leave them alone while I was traveling, though. There's enough space for a few more habitats."

Impressed, Leta squinted into the far African expanse where the Nundu prowled, as though imagining whole continents condensed into one suitcase. Turning back to the grumbling mooncalves, she stroked one gently, trailing her fingers along its long, downy neck. "I wish I could see them under a full moon."

Spurred by momentous impossibilities, Newton lost interest quickly and scampered to the next attraction. "Can I feed the kelpie? Did you bridle it? Can I see?"

"All dangerous creatures are _definitely_ off limits," Newt scolded his younger self. "I can't send you back to your teachers with missing limbs." He was excruciatingly aware that he was inviting a new series of scars to add to his list of 'things Theseus is not allowed to know about,' and he certainly couldn't risk obliterating his future existence if the manticore broke loose.

"Fine! But you _said_ you'd show me the nifflers. Look! I got one in the clock tower yesterday. Lucky I found him or an owl might've eaten him first." Thrusting a hand into his pocket, the boy dragged out a snarling bundle of brown and white fur that was hopelessly entangled in a silver chain. "Oh. Sorry, that's Leta's necklace. She let me borrow it so I could keep Tuff distracted. That's what I called him - does he have an actual name?"

"It's a she, and no," Newt admitted. He'd made a habit of naming every one of his creatures, but the nifflers were Bunty's job, and he couldn't tell her he had purchased these miscreants with the intention of to giving them back to the dealer once he was finished with them.

"Then I'll name them for you," Newton offered amicably. "Tuff is still a good name for her, I think. And the black and white one is Pudsey, and that little brown one I saw in the cage can be Muddler, and the golden one is Solis, and the matriarch can be..."

Intentionally Newt spiralled around, marching towards the shed before he could hear any more. _I'm not naming them. I'm not naming them,_ he told himself firmly, ignoring Newton's prattle as he followed close behind. But he _had_ named them already - every single one. He could even remember catching them in the...

 _It never happened._

But it did. Leta had even helped. They'd cornered Tuff in the stairwell, using Leta's necklace as a lure before...

 _I never had a niffler at Hogwarts._

"Newt, I don't suppose you realized you were missing the lovely lady Arabella."

Newt fairly tripped at the droll voice. Skidding down the ladder, Theseus turned to greet him, a jarred black niffler balanced in one hand. His gaze settled on a younger version of his brother and his smile went cold. "Ah. I see you have a visitor."

"Theseus, it's not what you think," Newt said, stifling a groan of despair.

"No, it's not what _you_ think," Theseus said pertly, lightly tossing the niffler to his brother. The look in his eyes was unmistakable. _If you want to play around with your childhood, fine. Stop complaining._

"Hello, Newt," he greeted, bending down to inspect Newton's small catch. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"But you called my name already," the boy huffed. Glancing in Newt's direction, he realized, "Did you mean him? I thought his name was Artemis."

"Family resemblance," Theseus said quickly. "Rather perplexing at times. He's a distant cousin."

"He's related?" Newton gushed. "Why didn't you tell me?" Newfound respect flooded his expression as he whirled to face the magizoologist. "Is this really what you do all the time? Can you teach me? Do you think I could get a job doing this?"

"Newton, why don't you show me outside," Theseus encouraged, hastily ushering the child towards the door. His face creased in something subtly akin to a master criminal who had just been ratted out. Plonking the jar of glass bits and circling niffler onto the table, Newt followed him.

"Not interfering?" he accused, the heels of his shoes digging grooves into the soil as he dogged along.

"You're one to talk," Theseus said shortly. "I noticed you moved the case back downstairs."

"It wasn't my choice. Your little friend there threatened to tell Dumbledore about the nifflers."

"Looks like you've got quite the problem," Theseus said. He peered over the grassland brush, waving when he saw Leta beside the occamy nest. "How many students did you invite over?"

"I _didn't_ ," Newt stressed. "He brought her."

"And where exactly, _Artemis_ , does this fall within the 'no interference' line?"

"You don't have to look so jolly about it." Newt groused, scowling as Theseus traipsed ahead, feigning fascination at the jobberknoll flock peering down from the trees.

"Hm? Shouldn't I be happy that you're enjoying yourself? I mean - really. Can't you appreciate a boy having a Sunday outing with his older brother?" Spreading his hands to indicate the rumbling field of magical beasts, Theseus waggled his eyebrows in sheer cheek and turned on his heel, waving for Newt's past image to follow him to the occamy nest.

Watching the trio of his former friend, his brother, and his faded childhood gather at the nest, engrossed in the magic he had sheltered in this once secret place, Newt ducked his head and slipped back into the shack. Releasing Arabella from her glass prison, he leaned against the table, stroking the niffler's coarse black fur, wondering when he had lost that part that made Theseus forget the rules and run alongside him.

He wished they had never gone back at all.

* * *

Nestled securely within bands of green, so excellently woven that Theseus could imagine his brother crafting it by hand rather than using one of the hasty spells whipped up by typical beast conservationists, three occamies trilled softly as they tilted their heads, eyeing the wizards surrounding them.

"Must be a new batch," Theseus commented, stooping down to stroke one sapphire head. A hiss and a snapping beak made him draw back, flapping a bruised finger. "Definitely new. Newt started training them to acknowledge visitors after that one got out in New York."

"Why do you keep calling the pest controller Newt?" Leta questioned. Before Theseus could thoroughly rail himself and muster an excuse, Newton piped in, "Because I look so much like Artemis. Don't I, Theseus?"

"Spitting image," Theseus mumbled.

"I'm going to be just like him when I grow up," Newton declared. He cupped one hand gingerly, lowering it palm-down, allowing the occamy to test his scent before he rested his hand lightly on the back of its neck.

 _You have no idea,_ Theseus thought, sighing at the revelation. You could take Newt out of the case, but the animals would always call to him.

"Like this?" Leta prodded Newton, carefully extending her hand to another occamy. It drew back, tongue zipping out agitatedly, and she jumped back in alarm.

"No, slower," Newton instructed. "Like your its mother checking up on them. Do you think they're male or female, Theseus? How can you tell?"

Theseus shrugged. "Artemis would know."

Having coaxed the occamy to accept her scent, Leta stroked its quills, marvelling as sunlight trailed down aquamarine scales. It was a natural affiliation - the Slytherin and the serpent - but the serenity in brown eyes and the coo of a vibrant creature illuminated the correlation, calling it into the dawn, and Theseus knew that if such an image could be captured it would change centuries of prejudice towards Salazar Slytherin's legacy.

Sliding his hands under one of the occamies, Newton leaned back and settled it on his lap, massaging its skull with his fingertips. "Professor Viridian said you might be leaving soon," he said unhappily. "Is that true?"

"Hm?" Jolted from a comfortable daze induced by sunlight and mesmerizing scales, Theseus prodded his memory of the meeting with the headmaster. He had been reprimanded, certainly, but there was no indication that he was about to be sacked. "Where did the professor hear this?"

"He said inspectors only stay a week at most," Newton said. "The Ministry doesn't pay them for extended visits. Once they've finished their assignment they have to return to fill out their report."

"What if I'm not finished with my report?" Theseus prompted.

"You inspected the lake already," Leta pointed out. "And the gardens. And all the portraits. I don't think inspectors are allowed into the student dorms, so what is there left to do?"

"Oh, I'll find something," Theseus assured dryly. "Pipes are notorious for pressure damage in structures this ancient. I'm sure I'll find the bathroom flooded on one of the floors."

Dark eyes gleamed with cognizance. Retreating from the occamy nest, Leta leaned back on her hands and stared thoughtfully at the pine boughs swaying overhead. "Peeves might be useful. You didn't report on him like you did Nearly-Headless-Nick."

"Couldn't pin him down for an interview," Theseus said. Which was a pity, for he would have enjoyed reprimanding the castle mischief-maker. Ghosts wilted so easily when they were cross-examined. Nearly-Headless Nick had sincerely wept at the thought of a Ministry official exorcising him on charges of contaminating the kitchens with spiritual residue.

"No, but he might help," Leta suggested. Her grin was so wiley, so devious compared to Newt's muddled stare, that for a moment Theseus had to wonder which of the two was more likely to filch a venomous tentacula spore while Professor Beery's back was turned.

"What are you suggesting?" he asked mildly.

"Peeves likes to spread mischief," Leta proposed. "Last week he switched the Ravenclaw banners in the Great Hall with Hufflepuff, just to get a rise out of the seventh years. He swims once a week in the boys' bathroom on the ground floor - that has to be a health violation."

"Are you implying what I think you are?" Theseus said, his mouth curling into a maniacal grin.

Clearly delighted that her input was welcomed by an adult, Leta shrugged. "Peeves is a menace to everyone. He could create reasons for you to stay longer."

"So now I'm to enlist the castle ghosts." He might have to apologize to Nearly-Headless-Nick for threatening him with a bad report. Glancing shrewdly at a beaming Leta, who was nigh bursting with ideas while Newton picked idly at the grass, Theseus considered that he might have badly misconstrued the source of his brother's distractions. Determined to speak to Newt about it later, he leaned forward conspiratorially, fingers steepled under his chin. "What else do you have in mind?"

* * *

 ** _Astro, I had to quote you on this because I thought it was a perfect summary of the last chapter. "So not much happened other than the Scamander brothers having a slight discourse despite Theseus is trying to reconnect and help Newt..." Yup, that probably just summed up half this fic. ;)_**

 **Thank you to John Smith, XYZArtemis, The Mocking J, blodreina, Son of Whitebeard, and Astro for reviewing!**


	13. Chapter 13

_Monday, March 14, 1910_

* * *

Monday afternoon was no less glorious for the murky clouds brooding overhead. A breeze nipped between the corridor arches, speckling Theseus' face with fine mist, but the temperature was mild enough that the wind goaded one to tramp about outside, where grass swayed like a fragile sea and sparrows balked against the currents overhead. It was a fine day for kites, or cricket, or watching a team practice for the next Quidditch match.

"Theseus!" Hair askew in the wind, robes flapping about him, Newton skittered to a halt just shy of his brother, his face red and elated as he trotted to meet the elder's lengthy stride. "I transfigured a real lily pad this time. Well, it wasn't that good, not like yours, but the professor gave me a passing score. I'd have shown you but it fell off the table and someone stepped on it and crushed it. Can you help me with transfiguration this evening? We're supposed to transform animals in tomorrow's lesson and I don't want something to happen to Hereward."

"Afraid he'll fly into a tree?" Theseus drawled.

Newton flushed darker than was warranted for the brisk walk. "Well, Flippet did sort of hit one. It was an accident, really, and she wouldn't have fallen if Jenny hadn't squealed and made Corwyn toss her out the window."

"What exactly did you transform her into?" Theseus asked, his expression twisting in bewilderment as he tried to imagine a creature so horrid that another student would smash spell-protected glass to be rid of it.

"It was supposed to be a candlestick," Newt said glumly. "But her head was still fixed on top, and she kept swiveling about to look at everybody. I tried to turn her back - I almost had it. Corwyn just didn't give me any time."

There was no small amount of sorrow wrapped into that bland statement. "Why didn't you tell me?" Theseus prompted. "I would've written the professor."

Apparently that was the wrong way to intervene, for Newton looked fairly startled as he skittered around the notion. "It's fine. Mother bought me another one, and this time I'll do the spell right because you'll teach me. Did you settle your job today? Are you staying?"

"Yes, and yes," Theseus replied amicably. An easy hex had spouted a flow of purple shampoo from all of the spouts in the prefects' bathroom. Not only had he flooded the hall, enforcing the necessity of his prolonged visit, but the groundskeeper had slipped in the mess so neatly that Peeves popped by just to test the skating rink himself. After a few minutes of letting the poltergeist slop suds and purple hand prints over the walls, Theseus had proposed an alliance.

His best suit was now in the laundry, soaked and stained with expertly extracted dye, his skin still bore a violet tint that had made Madame MacQuoid cackle like a jarvey when he inquired after a remedy, and he had successfully convinced Pugg that comeuppance was around every man's corner. Peeves had been so impressed with the results that he had offered his services at once - probably as an opportunity to gossip with his fellow spirits and humiliate the intolerable inspector further.

"Your face is sort of purply," Newton commented, looking up with mingled sympathy and chagrin. "Does it take long to wear off?"

"Hours, if I calculated right." Thank heavens he hadn't mixed the full dose. He wanted a castle of cross professors, not an insurrection over girly walls and floors.

"You really shouldn't mess with Peeves," Newton advised, as though the whole bathroom debacle was the ghost's doing. "He strung up one of the Slytherins from the light fixtures in the Dark Arts classroom right before Christmas, and then he was howling all about the room throwing butter knives and rat dung everywhere, so no one could go inside to cut him down for three whole hours!"

It was fortunate that the Ministry report wasn't official. Newton's avid testimonials could have shut down the school. Compared to Beauxton's Academy and Durmstrang, both of which Theseus had seen in his later years of travel, Hogwarts was a shabby monastery built on splint legs of heritage and decadence, bolstered by generations of loyal bloodlines. One week ago Theseus would have sworn on his grandmother's grave that there was no better school than what could be found in Scotland. Posing as a cynical inspector had ruined his entire perspective.

"Theseus, is that Artemis coming this way?" Newton said, tugging on his sleeve. "It is! Is he going to join us? Are you going to ask him if I can keep Pudsey?"

"What - when was I going to...?" Mentally berating the foolishness of younger siblings and the messes he was dragged into unawares, Theseus discarded the niffler petition and nodded to Newt. "Artemis."

Cordial enough in his own rushed manner, Newt spared a brief wave for Newton, looking more and more uncomfortable as he glanced about the courtyard and requested, "I was wondering if you could help me search the Room of Requirement this afternoon. If you're not busy."

"The room of what?" Theseus said, perturbed by the title. He thought he and Davis had explored every nook, classroom, and arbor in the castle, and he had never heard of such a place. Perhaps a new wing had been added since his graduation.

Sighing, Newt leaned in to whisper, "The Come-and-Go room. I didn't discover it until my fourth year."

"Newt, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Artemis," young Newton pitched in helpfully. He shrugged when both adults turned to stare at him. "His name is Artemis. You keep forgetting."

"Can we please discuss this elsewhere?" Newt hissed.

"What _is_ the Room of Requirement," Theseus countered. "I've never heard of it. What makes you think a student will have access to it?"

"I can't say anything here," Newt insisted, nodding meaningfully at his younger self.

Sighing, Theseus glanced down at the second-year. Newton fidgeted, the same worried expression eclipsing his face as when Theseus had challenged him about Herbology.

"Are we going to the Quidditch pitch still?" Newton asked in a small voice. There it was again. The disappointed edge of, _I know it's important but you're leaving me again, aren't you?_ He heard it every year after the holidays and before the fall term began, until one day it dropped out of his brother's sullen tone altogether.

Dispirited, downcast eyes below him. Persistent, hesitant gaze at his right. Bother it all, it was bad enough having one sibling warring for his time, let alone two of them quarreling over his company. No matter which brother he chose, someone was going to be disappointed this afternoon.

Grimacing, knowing he was going to hear about it later, Theseus shrugged at Newt. "I promised him I'd watch the practice this afternoon."

He didn't expect the confidence to drop out of Newt's eyes. He had expected Little Brother to be annoyed, perhaps, maybe even slouchy after Theseus put off the research for a day, but crestfallen was an expression he hadn't seen since fourth year. Newt was simply too maverick to be crushed by a lousy afternoon.

"Whatever is the matter?" Theseus huffed, bewilderment coloring his tone. "Look, I've been working all morning devising a way just to keep us both here. You know Black won't stand me dodging around without a purpose. It's just one afternoon, all right? It won't stop us from finding what we need."

There it was again. The clamped jaw and independent flare burning in hazel eyes, shutting him out before he could discern his omission. Shaking his head, Newt said lightly, "It's fine. I can handle it myself. I'll see you this evening, if you stop by."

 _If_ you stop by. A casual allusion to the certainty that Theseus would neglect him because of a mere Quidditch practice. Where on earth was this coming from? They'd been working apart from one another for nearly a decade, and now Newt wanted to be fussy about which part of himself was receiving more attention? _Technically I am spending time with you!_ Theseus mentally retaliated. _I'm giving you the best school year of your life. What are you sulking about for?_

"Can we go, then?" Newton asked softly, hovering as though he expected Theseus to follow after "Artemis" any minute. The fear wasn't unwarranted.

Forcing himself to look away from his brother's rigid retreat, Theseus nodded briskly and led the way through the courtyard. The brooding clouds overhead only accented his mood. Gloomy and foreboding, that's what this day was. A bitter wind whipped past his coat, reminding him of the gust of hot air blasting from a tomb, and the chill of a night in Paris after Leta vanished before his eyes. A fate he would have shared had Newt not dragged him away from her pyre, sharing his despair as Grindelwald's fire melted into silence.

Where was his brother now?

* * *

Swivelling like wraiths against the grey sky, the eagles of Ravenclaw were the most inspiring team to watch on the field. Their strategies were flawless and their teamwork a practiced dance. Though not as bold in tactics like Gryffindor's impulsive dives, or clever like Slytherin's feints, they hovered on championship every year. Few students below third year made this proficient team, and its members consistently excelled in both sports and academics.

In Theseus' experience they were quite the flock of flippant, frilly fabricators. He'd gone to spare with the previous captain a few times over intimidation tactics towards first-years. Outrageous snobs, the lot.

"That's Falon," Newton said, pointing to the sixth-year who was executing an infallible reverse pass, making the difficult move appear effortless. "He's only a Chaser. How are we supposed to beat them?"

"It's... early March?" Theseus said, estimating the game schedule. "Ravenclaw won't play Hufflepuff for the rest of the year."

"I _know_ ," Newton said with an exasperated sigh. "But I want to be ready for next year. I want to try out for the team."

"Didn't make it this year, eh?" Theseus sympathized. Newt had always loved Quidditch, but he had never mentioned it outside of school, save to practice over break and swear he would be better next year.

"Garrick said the team was full up," Newton grumbled. "I thought I came to the tryouts on time. Do you think I should ask Father for a pocket watch? Professor McGonagall says she'll turn me into one if I get lost on the moving staircases again. Or maybe she said a compass. Do you think she would actually do it?"

"I wouldn't put anything past her," Theseus mused. "Who's the team captain for Ravenclaw?"

"Cassandra David," Newton supplied, making a face.

Ah, yes. The stream of straw-straight black hair definitely resembled Davey's uncooperative cowlick. This brazen little sister was destined for authorizing court signatures in a backroom office, little did she know.

"That's hardly a solicitous response for a lady," Theseus chided his brother.

"She's not a lady," Newton exclaimed. "She smacks a bludger worse than a Slytherin! She almost killed the Gryffindor Keeper last year."

Theseus muffled a chuckle. Single-minded and brash as buttons, that's how Davey described her. Tragic that one so bold would be stifled by a desk job.

Had it stifled Newt? Theseus' mirth vanished as quickly as the overcast smothering the sun. For years Newt had pinned himself to a desk job in the Ministry when his heart was tied to the land and the sky and the sea. Perhaps a brother's influence had never been limited to a renovated second year. Perhaps all along Newt had striven to please him; to restore his stricken honor.

Three years pent in a dismal office, and Theseus had never noticed.

He was just formulating a way to broach the matter to Newt when the bludger flashed in his vision. Instinctively he shoved Newton aside, barreling out of the way as the whipping globe smashed into the ground beside him. Clumps of dirt and grass sprayed violently as the bludger recoiled, glancing along Newton's skull as it sped away. Instantly the boy huddled on his side, crying out from shock and pain.

"Newt!" Theseus hollered, whipping upright to shelter the child even as he pried small hands away from the wound.

"Oye! Watch it, Cassandra!" one of the players shouted.

"Get off the field, Scamp-amander!" a rough, feminine voice exclaimed. "You know the rules! No kids on the pitch during practice. You trying to get killed?"

Assuring himself that the graze was no more than a light bump, swelling quickly but showing no signs of blood, Theseus whirled to face the sky, amplifying his voice to reach every player.

 _ **"Get down here now!"**_

Stunned, the eagles hovered uncertainly, drifting down one after another to perch a few feet from the enraged inspector. Cassandra was the last to land.

"What. Was. That?" Theseus enunciated, his voice shaking with negligible control.

"We weren't aiming for the kid," Falon said quickly. "Cass doesn't look at where she's hitting sometimes. All the first-years know to leave the pitch when we're practicing."

"I'm second-year!" Newton bemoaned. "Ow - ow. Theseus, can't we just go?"

"I didn't hardly knick him," Cassandra said gruffly, crossing her arms over her broom handle. "He clobbered Jenny harder when he shoved her in the library."

Two thoughts strung together at once: Newt was a blundering fool, and someone wanted comeuppance.

"I didn't clobber her!" Newton exclaimed, looking with wide eyes at the Eagles surrounding him. "I tripped on her cauldron, I swear! I didn't mean to fall into her!"

"Did you aim for Newt," Theseus interjected quietly.

Stoic grey eyes bore a hint of fright. Rising on her broomstick, Cassandra shook her head.

"Did you aim to frighten him," Theseus asked, lowering his voice to a soft pitch that was almost a whisper. The creak of a cold wind seeping under the door, bearing away a man's breath while he slept. The melodic hiss of a snare winding about a rabbit's neck. The subtle shift in the ocean's current, warning the swimmer that death roamed the waters before her.

Cassandra swayed back several feet.

"I didn't know," she said between gritted teeth.

"Didn't know that his brother was with him?" Theseus asked in the same even tone. "Or you didn't know that Sacheverell is my best friend."

A ghastly shade of white enveloped the girl's face at the mention of her brother. Arms quivering, she stepped carefully off her broom and tried to salvage her reputation one last time. "I wouldn't ever - he's just a kid."

"So's Jenny," Falon muttered, casting her a dark look.

Looking each team player in the eye, mentally noting each shamed slump and flabbergasted expression, Theseus waited until the team was silent and still. Only Falon met his gaze; a silent acceptance for the failure to prevent a wrong.

"You're all dismissed," Theseus said calmly. "I suggest you leave the pitch. Take advantage of this afternoon: it may be the last you see before the end of term."

Gaping, some of the players hesitated, but Theseus didn't wait for the message to sink in. He crouched beside Newton, cringing as he saw the darkening bruise. "We'll have Madam MacQuoid look at."

"It's not bad - really," Newton whispered loudly, still clutching his head. "You shouldn't have said anything. They'll all think I'm tattling now!"

"Oh tosh," Theseus murmured, brushing aside a few curls to make sure the swelling didn't extend further into the scalp. "Would you rather I let them paste you because you were clumsy?"

"No - Maybe? - Not really," Newton conceded. "But I was right when I told Dumbledore you were just like a Chinese Fireball."

Hurt lanced sudden and sharp as Theseus remembered the same words thrown at him by one nearly twenty years older. "Am I that temperamental?" he asked softly.

Gawking, Newton paused with his hand pressed over his skull, his eyes nearly crossed with puzzlement. "But I like Chinese Fireballs!" he defended avidly. "They're fast and clever and they're called lion dragons which is sort of you, cause when I used to be afraid there was a boggart hiding under my bed you'd pretend to be a nundu and scare it away. I told Professor Dumbledore about you and he said it was a good comparison. Don't you like dragons, Theseus?"

"I..." Feeling like he'd been smitten with a tongue-tying curse, Theseus swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth and eked out, "Yes, of course. It's... not something I would've thought of."

 _'You don't have to be such a Chinese Fireball...'_

 _Oh, Newt..._ Theseus thought, sighing. _You great idiot. You know I will never stop worrying over you._

"We should go inside," he said, bracing Newton as the boy swayed to his feet. "Madam Macquoid needs to look at that thick head of yours." _And I have an apology to make._

"But I'm fine, Theseus! Really!" Hardly - the boy was blinking rapidly in the gloom, but his stance was adamant as he pleaded, "Don't tell the headmaster about this - please! They'll all be angry with me if they get into trouble, and then everyone will say I just go whining to you every time something bad happens. Promise me you won't say anything!"

 _How often has this happened?_ Theseus wanted to prod. _What else haven't you told me?_

Young Newton wasn't the one to ask, however. The child would only fluster and say that everything was fine - all fine - nothing to worry about - and please could Theseus keep this all to himself?

No, the one to interrogate was the man who had already slogged through six years of schooling before dropping out without any forewarning. Something more than a few distractions had hampered Newt's education; Theseus was sure of it now. Whether it was limited to Ravenclaw's team captain, or whether the damage went further than anyone knew, one wizard alone could tell.

Well, there was no harm in meeting up with his brother a little earlier than scheduled. Theseus had a few important matters to discuss with that slippery rascal.

* * *

 **Thank you to SomeRandomHuman001, XYZArtemis, Astro, and John Smith for reviewing!**


	14. Chapter 14

****Note - Although famous wizard cards were not distributed until the nineteen-twenties, I didn't find any evidence that chocolate frogs weren't a popular snack for children before then. Much like vallomilks evolved into mallo cups for the modern generation and Reese's pb cups started carrying pieces in the center. Great. Now I'm craving chocolate again...**

* * *

 _Monday, March 14, 1910_

* * *

"Alright, Newton lad, what's bit off your fingers this time?" Short and slightly plump, with a generous thatch of curly dark hair and a fetching glint in crinkled brown eyes, Madam Madeline MacQuoid fairly swept Newton into the closest bunk and tutted over him, running her thumb lightly over the swelling knot on his forehead. "What've you done to yourself now?"

"I hit it," Newton said fearlessly. "Can Theseus have a chocolate frog, too?"

"Here now, don't be telling the staff about my secret stash!" MacQuoid exclaimed, casting Theseus a merry wink. "Grown-ups don't need sweets."

"Theseus gets the box," Newton said cheekily. "I'll catch the frog for him."

Goodness, Theseus had forgotten all about those excursions to the sweet shops. It had become a holiday tradition for Newt, and a getaway for himself whenever he came home from school. They hadn't shared a chocolate frog since...

September of nineteen-thirteen. Newt's last year at Hogwarts. Right before Theseus hustled him onto the train, pressing the cardboard box into his hand, ignorant that this would be the last time he saw his brother off to school.

He wished he had foregone his wariness for Newt's distance and dragged the sixth-year into a crushing hug. Held him until all resilience melted away.

 _Would it have changed anything?_

Laughing, Madam MacQuoid selected two blue boxes from her cabinet, handing one each to Newton and Theseus. Newton tore his open, snatching up the frog midair and cramming half of the wriggling creature into his mouth.

"Here, Theseus," he mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate as he held out the empty casing. "How many more for your Quidditch pitch?"

Oh, yes. He used to have a small collection of models built from Newt's sugar cravings. The castle, the Ministry building, a Quidditch pitch, and London's clock tower had gathered dust for years before a stray kneazle ransacked the attic.

"Just a few more," Theseus said, tossing the box thoughtfully. He sprang it open with his thumb and tossed his arm, sending the frog hurtling towards Newton and catching up the second box with his free hand.

Madam MacQuoid rolled her eyes. "Look at the pair of you! Throwing tosh in my infirmary? Behave now or I'll set you both abed with a sleeping draught!"

"Yes, Marm," Newton answered, as delighted as though his favorite aunt was scolding his newest growth spurt.

"Well, you're lucky this round," MacQuoid said, spreading a salve that smelled of dittany and mint over the bruise before smoothing a thin bandage over it. "Just a wee lump - not even enough to boast of to your classmates. Don't you be excusing yourself from your lessons now - Madeline MacQuoid always knows what her pups are off to."

"Yes, Madam MacQuoid," Newton answered dutifully, rolling his eyes.

"A word?" Theseus interjected softly, waving for Newton to eat his frog and not worry over the conversation. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he asked, "Could there be long-term ramifications?"

"For a wee bit of a scuffle?" MacQuoid barked a laugh. "You high-tops in your Ministry uniforms - why, you're nothing but a cog of ninnying nannies, aren't you? Newt's a fine lad - he can hold his own well enough without you poking about in his afternoon affairs."

"I meant the head injury," Theseus emphasized, offering Newton another quick smile as the second-year craned to listen in. "Could it be serious? Further down the road?" The first indication of a lifetime of willow tea and forgetfulness?

"You badgers," MacQuoid scoffed. "Always claiming a broken leg's a mere bruise, until a young'un trips over his own two feet and then you're all up in arms. It's a bruise, Mister Scamander. He'll be fine."

"There's no underlying damage?" Theseus confirmed.

"Not a wit," MacQuoid reassured him. "What's got you so scared?"

Hesitating, Theseus said uncertainly, "A member of the family - "

"Ah, that'll be Mister Caecilian," MacQuoid guessed. "He's got Newt's eyes - recognized it right off. Came in not two days ago for a headache. I told him not to drink the whole bottle in one go, but the chaps never listen, do they? Had to give him a less potent version and a written instruction."

"He never told me what happened," Theseus said, trying not to appear too eager. "Close cousin - it's my responsibility to look after him - but he was traveling on his own for a while. Tracking animals for the Ministry; it's a dangerous job."

"He didn't complain as such." MacQuoid shrugged, busying herself by closing the windows against a streaking drizzle.

"His headaches," Theseus clarified. "I can't be of any assistance if I don't understand the source." Concern welling up inside of him, he urged, "How bad is it, Madam MacQuoid?"

Flustered, the plucky woman forced a chuckle. "Aren't you tittered for naught," she murmured. "It's not my place to answer for patients, but you needn't go about fretting for him. There's no damage to his mind or spell residue; he's simply a fine, absent-minded bloke. Mercy, you meddle about the same as when you were a boy. Do you still trounce men twice your size over the slightest tosh?"

"I never..." Well, perhaps he had once or twice. Usually when some toff made a comment regarding Leta. And that one official who claimed Newt would be better handled in Azkaban. And the weaselly auror who...

"All right, maybe," Theseus allowed. "Never without cause."

"Mm-hm," Madam MacQuoid sniffed. Closing her cabinet, she instructed, "Well, don't waste a boy's afternoon wallowing in the hospital wing. Run off, both you lads! Sprint! Jump about! Use that energy for something useful - outside of my recovery unit!"

"Come on, Theseus!" Newton exclaimed, leaping down from the bunk. "Cynthia brought chocolates from Honeydukes to share with all of us. Do you think Father will sign for me to go to Hogsmeade next year? You'll tell him I'm responsible enough, right? Do they sell bowtruckles? Leta says that Bryant brought home a cat last winter and it had kittens in the closet where Artemis keeps his case. Can we go see Artemis now? Do you think he'd like kittens if we found them in the castle again?"

Chuckling, Theseus detangled his hand from Newton's grip and slowed his pace. "Actually, I need to speak with Mister Caecilian right now," he excused himself. "And you have homework, don't you?"

"Ugh, I wish it would stop," Newton griped. "Do you have to write essays if you're an auror? I'm not sure I'd like that."

"There's always paperwork," Theseus said briskly. "Even if you're a magizoologist. Off you pop now."

He waited until the last threads of a yellow scarf whipped around the corner before meandering back to the stairwell. Newt had said something about a "Come and Go Room" - whatever that was. By now he had probably finished his business and returned to his case. Theseus would just ask for a quick word and lay the apology on thick. A simple misunderstanding, that's what it was. Who would expect that a dragon correlation could be such a compliment.

 _I haven't lost you yet,_ Theseus thought, taking small comfort in that knowledge. _One way or another, I'll bring you back home._

No more lonely train stations and discarded boxes. He'd even snitched a frog from Madam MacQuoid's cabinet before she locked the doors on him. For old time's sake.

* * *

Fuzzy, distorted shapes drifted in a blur of torchlight and shadow. One by one the largest objects righted themselves into hatstands and mirrors and sagging bookshelves. It took a few more exaggerated blinks to clarify the rest.

He was still in the Room of Requirement.

Lurching to his elbows, Newt rubbed his forehead, cringing as the perpetual drumming escalated into a piercing blade between his eyes. He must have hit his head on something and passed out in the middle of the floor. Theseus would start fluttering like a hippogriff with a bent tail if he didn't rendezvous with him soon.

But then, Theseus wouldn't be looking for him today. He had more pressing matters at hand.

Groaning, Newt rested his head against his knees and closed his eyes. Wrong. Everything was all wrong. Theseus was being what he ought to be - a fussy old hen hovering over a mismatched gosling - and Newt was overreacting. He should be grateful that he had a chance to see Theseus relaxed and comfortable. He should be taking advantage of the timeline himself. Tromping around the school grounds a bit. Enjoying a day at Hogwarts where he wasn't hiding in a back room between classes.

 _Or recovering from an accident on the pitch,_ Newt thought morosely. The flashback had seemed so real. He could have sworn a bludger had smashed right into him, knocking him from the cabinet he'd been using as a vantage point, but when he brushed his fingers against his forehead there wasn't so much as a bruise.

 _I never went to the pitch after second year, except for tryouts,_ Newt recalled. One circle of blue uniforms and a nasty day on the field had been enough. Besides, Theseus would never have joined him - not in those days.

 _I must've fallen asleep_ , he rationalized. Madam MacQuoid was right - insomnia was surely the cause behind his recent maladies. No wonder Theseus rattled on about overworked hours and cold cups of tea.

Such had been the unceasing lecture since he got his first desk on the basement floor of the Ministry.

Rolling to his knees, Newt grabbed the dresser beside him and hauled himself hand over hand until he could lean against the faded wood. He breathed in slow spurts through his nose, waiting for the dark spots to fade from his vision. Sleep. That's what was wrong with him. Just a few hours and he'd be back to normal. He'd done this before, back in Africa when he spent nearly two days trying to coax that little girl to return to her body before she was torn to pieces by her own magic. Thirty-four hours of futile pleas, four more sleepless nights after that. He'd nearly gone mad with hallucinations.

 _Just wait until sunset_ , he urged his weary limbs. Once the animals were settled and Theseus was satisfied with his progress he could sleep through the night. No busy work or nonsense this time. Even he could tell he needed rest.

Slogging out of the Come-and-Go room, Newt glanced about the hall. The windows were still light enough to indicate he had a fair bit of afternoon left. Small favors. He didn't know what the erumpet would do if he was late for feeding again - one instance of a glowing beast fishing about in New York had been enough. _It doesn't always happen that way,_ Newt thought morosely. _They never stop to think about the grand adventures - about the lives saved and everything done **right**. _

But the Ministry was composed of jurisdictions and justice for incursions, and Theseus would always be part of it. Newt had come to accept that a long time ago. _No surprise when he chases you down the corridor. Sometimes it's almost fun._ His one chance to chat up with his brother about something other than "page-infinite-number of ever-so-crucial-document has an unforgivable-tiny-imperfection." Well, he had such an opportunity now, and he was still botching it up by trying to follow the rules - but Theseus _wanted_ the rules followed - but this time he wanted Newt to lighten up - and he was _trying_ , everything was just so important and Theseus couldn't seem to understand how tenuously they were standing in the sinking pit of an hourglass - but Theseus understood the dangers and obviously Newt was looking at it the wrong way because now they were fighting and he couldn't... didn't... oughtn't...

Goodness, he would quite dizzy himself if he continued thinking like this. _Stop worrying, Scamander,_ Newt told himself wearily, stepping gratefully into the silent, cozy space he'd barricaded from the rest of the world. _No need to suffer for conflict that hasn't happened._ He leaned against the ladder, surveying the shack he'd built with hammer and nail - no spells or shortcuts - where the niffler infants were piling over one another to see him, the ferrets curling in his bunk where they certainly _did not_ belong, and the neat assortment of herbs and important things lined the shelves he'd designed just so. This was the sort of world Theseus could never understand. A little disarray, emphasizing the important things without nullifying the necessity of the overlooked, a little brightness to define the things of order, a little neatness to ease the rush of the unexpected, a little carelessness to eradicate the sense of compulsive perfection, a little softness to remind one of home. Leta's photograph wasn't the only picture perched on a shelf. He just hadn't dusted in a while. Couldn't stand his failures surmounting the years, reflecting in the eyes of the one he looked up to the most.

Brushing his thumb over the aged photograph, revealing just enough to recapture the giddy festivity, Newt smiled wanly as he recalled his first day on a train. The dark-haired man in the photograph was younger. More springy perhaps, easily tucking in the eleven-year-old and ruffling his hair before the duo beamed up at the camera. Never had a cross word passed between them at the station, or a glint of disappointment jaded his brother's eyes.

It was the best memory he had.

 _He wants it to stay that way._ Newt understood. Everyone had told Theseus that Newt would be just like him one day. It was only natural that he still yearned for a brother he could understand; someone who could share and protect the world that he loved. He was looking for that spark in a second-year Newt - trying to shape his brother while he was malleable into the man Newt had striven to become.

Theseus simply couldn't understand that resolve wasn't all that shaped one's future, and sometimes one had to accept that he would never quite fit in.

Disheartened by the merry light in his brother's eyes - a glimpse he had schooled himself not to search for - Newt set the picture face-down on the shelf and snatched up the crock of wood-lice. No sense dithering about in dreams of the past. By the end of term they would leave this era and go their separate ways. Theseus to the Ministry, Newt to his apartment, until Dumbledore called on them again or Grindelwald burned London to the ground.

He wanted to tell his brother that - for all it was worth - he truly had enjoyed his stay.

He just couldn't ever speak around the ache in his chest. Couldn't move when Theseus put his arms about him. Couldn't look past the happiness invested in his incarnate childhood.

For if he were to say but one word, it might all rush out from him and Theseus would hear the truth for the first and final time, and then... and then...

... And then he might no longer have a brother.

* * *

Either Newt was running amok in the Forbidden Forest, or he was making a point to avoid Theseus after his apparent show of favoritism. The case had been empty when Theseus scanned the interior (if Newt only knew the lengths he would go to, endangering life and limb amongst carnivorous beasts to make sure his brother wasn't unconscious in the snow or the desert pocket), and none one of the portraits had seen him pass by in the last two hours. Theseus couldn't trust the word of the ghosts - few were speaking sensibly to him after Nearly Headless Nick flooded the courtyard with his weeping (and a few burst pipes from Peeve's meddling) - but the professors also denied any contact since that morning. Newt had well and truly lost himself this time.

Telling himself that his brother was in no present danger (and would certainly rue another nagging interference from the "Chinese Fireball"), Theseus sought out the flying instructor instead. Hallan Moore, now ten years older than Theseus' first flight and seventeen younger than their last reminiscence, was a man of the earth who dared defy the hawk. A slow-speaking, limber weed of a wizard, youthful and spry in these early years, he had coached many a prodigy to the championships and yet never played a game since his school days, remaining as unremarkable and unmatchable as a moke hiding amongst the shoals.

He was the sort of man who would never abide bullying.

"Something to say?" Moore inquired, holding up one hand to halt his troop of first years midair before meandering to stand by Theseus. "This isn't official classwork. They asked for extra practice."

"I'm not here on inspection," Theseus stated.

Stepping to the side, one eyebrow lifted in question, Moore scanned him from head to toe, much like a drab brown lizard angling for a closer examination; the swiftest and cleverest and yet the most commonly overlooked. "Working too hard, Scamander? You look peaky. Years are catching up."

"Ministry obligations," Theseus said shortly. "I need to ask you about the Ravenclaw Quidditch team."

Pausing to process the request, Moore nodded and gestured to his first-years. "Descents and swerves. Team up and help one another. Stay low out of the storm."

He held his silence until they had walked a safe distance away from the group and then turned, waiting for Theseus to speak. Holding up a few shards of stone, crumbled under the oppression of an irrepressible force, Theseus cupped them into the instructor's hand. "Anything you notice?"

"Granite," Moore said, peering closely at the glittering interior. "Common field stone. What of it?"

"Smashed to pieces," Theseus said, nodding his head towards the distant pitch. "By a bludger."

Moore blinked slowly and slid the pieces into his overcoat pocket. "I'm listening."

"The Ravenclaw team was practicing," Theseus explained briefly. "Newton and I were sitting about fifty yards outside of the pitch when Cassandra Davis knocked a bludger outside the boundaries. This rock was between us." He could see Moore tracking the trajectory and estimating the velocity and force required to clear a bludger not only from the ring, but the stands and the surrounding 'safety zone.'

"Team was aware?" Moore asked after several heartbeats.

"No interference, no apologies," Theseus confirmed.

Nodding once, Moore sidled away, hands tucked into his pockets as he garnered his own conclusions. "Kid all right?"

"Just a graze." Thank heavens it hadn't been an inch closer to Newt's fingers.

"I'll have a word with the team," Moore said. He shuffled off like some great tawny stork, closing court and dismissing the judges. Theseus had no doubt as to the verdict.

Ravenclaw was going to be scrambling for a few House Points this year.

The deed done, Theseus set off for the castle before the plodding raindrops could soak him through. A good rain was the best remedy for his violet skin tone, Madam MacQuoid had assured him. At least he would be spared that minor humiliation when he spoke to his brother.

He had a feeling Newt wasn't going to make it easy for him.

* * *

Had a briefing with Newt been imperative, it would have been more prudent to wait inside the case until his brother returned. Theseus tutted as he jumped the final rungs, stepping over a ferret who was prancing about imperiously with Newt's wand gripped between its teeth. Rescuing the gnawed wood, Theseus set it back on the table amidst a collection of charred papers that reeked of pepperup potion. Merlin, was this the point to which Newt's attention digressed when he was agitated? Stained teacups and unstoppered potions? Shuffling the mess into the center of the table where it was least likely to topple, Theseus arranged it to his liking and tilted his head, listening to the shift and murmurs of the beasts outside. All was quiet.

A sigh indoors, one that could only be associated with a featherless, misplaced hippogriff foal, directed his attention to the nest in the corner. _Oh, Newt..._ Kipped down unseemingly early, sleeping on top of the afghan as though he had thrown himself onto the nest and passed out, he looked more like an exhausted second-year than the wizard who had fought Grindelwald twice and survived.

"You ninny-headed bandicoot," Theseus murmured, crouching to tuck Newt's dangling arm back into the bunk. No need for one of the ferrets to see it as a chew toy. He paused for a moment, listening to the even breaths, letting his mind dwell on blue flames and ash, remembering what could have been. Only the flickering dance of lightning apparation had stolen his brother from the tomb before the cavern could become his monastery. Rigorous instincts honed by years of taming unfathomable monsters, evading wings and talons and fangs and claws, had proven their worth. Steely dragons had snatched away Theseus' aurors, yet had careened in frustration as the most unlikely of all eluded death.

Would Newt have survived that night if not for his own training? Immersed in a reckless andragogy contradictory to Hogwarts' book-learned methods, tempered by near-brushes with death, schooled to act on instinct rather than complex spells, he was already equivalent to a veteran auror. Theseus had been too focused on that simple lack of certification to see.

"Whatever will I do with you, Newton?" Of course there was no answer, nor did Theseus wish for one. Newt was sleeping peacefully for the moment. Apologies could wait.

Rising quietly, Theseus retrieved a broom and nudged at the scuttling ferrets, letting them pounce and bare their teeth with frenzied delight at the new play before sweeping them one by one out of the shack. (No mere feat given that each spunky ferret ducked back inside every time he turned to shoo another into the night.) When at last the fifth growling weasel had bounded out the door Theseus shut it firmly, pondering whether the ferrets were a live food source or if they were an endangered branch of their species. Probably the former. Something had to keep the predators satiated while Newt was running about.

He was prepared to sneak back up the ladder when he noticed the photograph.

Snatching up the picture, gripping it so strongly as to strain the glass frame, he stared at it with the fervor of one recapturing a moment. Those days so long past. Every second he remembered.

She was younger in this profile. Aloof and lively, with the same mysterious smile that would entrance him in the nineteen-twenties. Those daring brown eyes would never look upon him again. The future he returned to would be empty and pointless without her.

 _Do this for Newt._ The aching resolve pulsed in his chest, a daily reminder as he remembered what could have been. _Do this right, and you won't be alone._

Grimly setting down the photograph, Theseus watched her smile, free of Grindelwald's influence, worried only by the next party or O.W.L., as brilliantly poised and fearless as she ought to be. How he missed her.

The sense of something being out of place drew his attention to a higher shelf. Something had moved that hadn't been there before... Curious, he lifted the toppled photograph, wondering who else his brother reminisced while traveling. Perhaps it was Porpentina's portrait, or a group of friends he'd never referenced in his letters. Although it was natural for a boy to want to spend time with his brother while he had the opportunity, Theseus had yet to meet any of his acquaintances.

He tilted the photograph sideways, peering at the streak in the dust, and his heart plummeted with anguish.

It was the train station.

A joyous smile captured a boy's soul, echoing in his silent laughter as he ducked under his brother's arm. Unfettered. Unaltered by years and distance; a boy going on an adventure, confident that nothing in his precious world would ever change.

Theseus had wrangled for the day off, exchanging his Christmas holiday so that he could see Newt to the station. They'd splurged in Diagon Alley, indulging on sweets and butterbeer, exclaiming over the newest broom model, squabbling over pets and whether or not an owl could best a falcon for delivering mail. (Owls always trumped - every wizard knew a falcon only shredded its parcels.) When at last they had regrouped at the station, Newt fairly dancing about with nervousness, Mother had called for one more picture. Theseus couldn't resist a final tease as he fairly squashed the first-year against himself, and Newt...

He'd scarcely heard the boy laugh at all this second year.

 _What happened to you, Little One? Where is your smile? Why don't you run about with your friends, or introduce them to your brother?_

Did Newt _have_ any friends, he was forced to wonder. Gently blowing on the glass, Theseus brushed the dust away with his sleeve and set the portrait back on the shelf, aware that Newt would not have wanted him to pry. He stole another look at the slumbering magizoologist. _We're going to discuss this. One day you're going to tell me everything._

For now, however, the hour was early yet. He wouldn't disturb Newt's scant rest. There would be time enough to corner him with a cup of earl grey and badger him until he told his story. Theseus had waited for years at a time to see his brother. He could hold off for one more evening.

Slipping out of the case, he closed it gently behind him and locked the office door. No one would disturb his brother until the morning.

As for himself, he wouldn't sleep at all tonight. He might as well hunt through the library.

* * *

 **Returning to my Mon/Thurs posting schedule to keep things flowing. :) Thank you to Astro and XZYArtemis for reviewing last chapter!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Ack! Many apologies for the long hiatus - moving is a terrible curse. I'll be updating the chapters more frequently now until the story is over. Thank you all for your patience!**

 **And thank you to Astro, MollyzEpic, John Smith, and LenaLove95 for reviewing!**

* * *

 _Tuesday, March 15, 1910_

* * *

There really wasn't a point in searching the library any longer. In all likelihood _Blood Bonds and Boundaries_ was stashed away in a trunk in one of the dorms, and Theseus doubted he could get clearance to search the students' personal belongings. Even for an imaginary inspector on a crucial mission, there was a certain limit before parents started receiving angry letters from school.

Flipping through spellbooks and nonsensical literature merely gave him something to _do_. It was too early to harangue anyone, and he wasn't eager to waltz about the castle like a fool shouting ' _Accio'_ at every doorway. Some niggling feeling kept drawing him here, telling him that he was missing something. Or perhaps he was just feeling mildly vengeful and throwing books over his shoulder seemed to be the perfect outlet for a week of useless frustration.

Peeves was eager to help. The poltergeist was ravaging bookshelves with maniacal glee, stamping on old textbooks and materializing in and out of shelves in a hurricane of savaged paper. He snatched a book out of Theseus' hands, tossed it into the rubbish bin, and then flipped the pages of _The Toadstool Tales_ in his face, screeching, "Doxies and dollies, hoppitty hoppitty hop!"

 _Never make deals with ghosts,_ Theseus considered ruefully, as a bookend narrowly missed his shoulder and Peeves crowed, "Poorly tum-tums!"

He was quite prepared to salvage his dignity and leave the library to Peeve's destruction when he saw the anomaly. Nestled amongst several copies of _The Tales of Beetle the Bard_ was a lump of pages pasted together. Crisp and white, they indicated a volume that was too recently published to have succumbed to cockroaches and silverfish. Quickly Theseus crouched, pulling out the storybook and flipping through the pages.

No notes or fingerprints. Yet someone had deliberately torn off the cover.

"Peeves, did you do this?" Theseus asked, looking up in time to duck a sailing rubbish bin.

For an instant the poltergeist paused, tilting his head fairly upside down with intrigue. "Slithery dithery slip of a snake, tore the beastie apart!"

"Stop quoting Beatrix Bloxam," Theseus grumbled. He stilled immediately, silently mouthing the phrase. Bloxam wouldn't use such violent language as tearing a beast to pieces. As for a snake...

A slip of a snake. A girl, perhaps. One of Slytherin's house. Carrying a brand new copy of _The Tales of Beetle the Bard_ , filled with musty old pages.

"Merlin's cat and cauldron..."

Pelting feet jolted his speculation. Tucking the damaged book under his arm, Theseus pulled out his wand to whip the mess into order.

"I told you he'd be here!" the child's voice made Theseus cringe. Seven o'clock already? He'd been down here for hours, only to be ratted out by the students.

"Hold off there, Scamp-amander. No sense running off - unless you want the headmaster to know you bloody tore apart the library."

Perplexed, Theseus peered between the slats of a bookshelf, prepared to run off the little twits. Threatening an adult with the authorities, well that was simply rude.

"I didn't do it!" Newton's high-pitched, worried voice sent a chill down his spine. "It was already like this when I came in!"

"Likely of him to tell a porky," a second-year responded, goading his companions to snicker with him. "Isn't that what you said when you put the spore on Corwyn's desk?"

"That wasn't me!" Newt said angrily. "I wasn't even sitting next to him."

"Come now, Elliot" one of the older girls said, shoving the second-year in the shoulder. "He'd never pull a monkeyshine like that."

Theseus almost smiled, satisfied to see one of the students taking control of the situation, when the girl added, "He's too stupid to get a spore on his own."

"Sod off!" Newt shouted. "I'm not stupid!"

"You can't even avoid a bludger!" a dark haired second-year snapped. "My sister lost fifty points because you just sat about like a gonk."

"And you can't even transfigure a lilypad," Elliot grumbled. "We've had extra homework this whole term thanks to your thick head."

"My Mum says the school should've sacked any student who put a poisonous plant on someone's desk," the girl with blond braids piped in.

"Sacking's not good enough - they'll probably lock him in Azkaban one of these days. That's where all the bad wizards go."

Gone was the indignation that had spurred Newton's courage. Within moments the ire in hazel eyes deteriorated into suppressed tears and the gangly shoulders drew inward, like a hippogriff folding in his wings lest the Hungarian Horntail view it as a challenge. A lonely child, pent in on all sides. So this was how Newt had spent his second year.

Hands quivering with silent wrath, Theseus stepped out from behind the shelf. The small cluster of students drew backward, slack-jawed for the instinctive dread of an adult overhearing their mockery. Newton cringed away, looking as though he had sloshed mud on his robes right before a party.

"Peeves was responsible for destroying the library," Theseus said thinly, knowing that the rumor would spiral through the castle faster than servants discussing the elopement of a pureblood heiress. Teeth bared behind an expression that was more like a Grim's snarl than a smile, he emphasized, "You're late for your classes."

The children scattered. Red-faced, Newton stooped to retrieve a few non-curriculum books with lengthy titles and pictures of dragons on the front, presumably dropped when the students jumped him. Theseus bent down to help.

"Why'd you do it?" Newton murmured, his chin quivering as a lone tear plopped onto _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland_.

"Do what?" Theseus asked, perplexed as Newton shifted away, hugging the books to his chest. "Why didn't you tell me they were bothering you?"

"C-Can't you stay out of it?" Newton pleaded, anger mingling with despair in his broken voice. "They already hate me. Now they'll say I squeal to you every time something happens. And you promised you wouldn't say anything about the bludger!"

"Newt, you can't expect me to stand there while they mock you," Theseus said, devastated that it had gone so far, happened for so long, and - Merlin, was this why Newt had seemed more withdrawn every summer before school? "How long has this been happening? Why didn't you tell Professor Dumbledore, or the headmaster?"

"I'm not a snitch!" Newton answered, scrubbing at his eyes. "What good would it do, anyways? They always come back at me when they lose points."

Not just the Ravenclaws, either. Theseus had seen red and green in that mob, and even a yellow badge. Fury coiled in his heart like an ashwinder. Six years was all it took to quench that innocent cheer in a first-year bounding off to a new school. Six years before he had to drive Newt onto that train, never realizing what awaited his brother.

 _I never would have forced you to leave. I would've found another institute - tutored you if necessary. I never would have let them hurt you._

"I've gotta go," Newton mumbled, shoving past Theseus. "I'll be late for class."

 _"_ Newt, wait - _"_ Reaching out, Theseus sighed in defeat as the second-year scampered into the hall. His own little brother, dreading his departure every year, distancing himself summer by summer because he thought his family would be satisfied with no less than a Hogwarts alumnus. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

 _If there's one thing that I can change, let it be this,_ Theseus swore. No child should grow up alone; ridiculed by his peers for every innocent mistake. The book mattered little. _This_ was his mission. It had always been about protecting Newt.

If saving his brother meant wrapping his future in bands of gold, coaxing him to follow his dreams, and sparing him the torment of a Hogwarts upbringing, then Theseus would gladly set him free. No future could be so priceless as the one where Newt stood by his side, undaunted and unashamed. Theseus wanted nothing less for the boy who scampered after niffler pups and hippogriffs, even if it cost him all of Paris.

He just wanted his brother to laugh with him again.

* * *

Regrettably, Theseus realized, rationality would always curb his mightiest plans. He couldn't just pull Newt from his classes and take him home on the next train. There were certain factors to consider. For one, Theseus wasn't a twenty-two-year-old trying to speak bad French for a paperwork industry, which meant that his present self would have the same preconception that Newt was better off in school. Explaining otherwise would unveil the entire mission. Secondly, his parents were still in charge of Newt until he was seventeen. Short of absconding with a twelve-year-old, Theseus had little influence over his education. Thirdly, he wasn't sure what the alteration would _do_ to Newt. Advocating for him for one term might not change the future, but removing him from Hogwarts would significantly alter his schooling and his eventual career. Theseus didn't know what that might do to the timeline, but he understood the consequences should he act without discretion.

He simply had to speak with his brother first.

Putting the library in order gave him time to ponder the situation. In the end, the choice was Newt's - even the second-year had made that point plain, given his reluctance for Theseus to defend him in front of his peers. Newt's future would hang on whatever Theseus chose now, ergo, it must be the younger brother who determined his own course. If he refused his brother's intervention, Theseus would honor his decision, but he would not be held accountable for their distance in the years to come. Newt would have to accept that his own pride resulted in their separation.

The thought sounded vaguely off, as though he was still missing _something_ crucial to the solution. Theseus had little time to wonder over it, for the clopping shoes of a running student had him leaning out to view the empty hall. Eight thirty-four. Someone was intolerably late for class.

That flying skew of black hair instantly gave her away. Idly Theseus wondered _how_ women managed to tame their wild appearance once they reached that formidable stage of feminine wiles. Some things were better left a mystery.

"Leta, whatever is the matter?" he asked, casually stepping into the hall.

Flushed from her run, Leta skittered like a startled rabbit, panic lighting her eyes before she recognized the inspector. Definitely on the run then, escaping whichever classroom had upset her. Could it be the same students who had taunted Newton earlier?

"Did something happen?" Theseus coaxed. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Leta said, her breath shaking as she pushed back her flopping ponytail. One shoelace trailed like a black worm. "The teacher sent me to get..."

Abruptly the glow washed from her face. Following her anxious dark eyes, Theseus looked down at the spineless book under his arm. Two steps backwards and Leta was poised to flee.

"Leta, wait."

Dropping to a crouch, Theseus set the book on the floor and slid it towards her. He clasped his hands loosely before him. Unassuming. Harmless.

Newt wasn't the only one who knew a thing or two about calming animals.

Looking rapidly between the book and the wizard, Leta croaked, "How did you know?"

"The pages inside the cover," Theseus said softly. "I need them."

Fear paralyzed the girl as though a boggart in white had materialized before her. "You're going to tell the headmaster, aren't you?"

"That old cog?" After seeing Newton's acute dismay whenever Black was mentioned? Theseus huffed. "I don't think he needs to know."

Curiosity flanked dismay before Leta's eyes hardened with suspicion. "Then what do you want?"

Caught aback by a response that was so _Leta_ , Theseus tossed back his head and laughed. She would never change.

"No, wait," he said, rubbing a hand over his face to calm himself as Leta edged around him nervously. "I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you."

There. He'd ignited her curiosity. Sitting back, still the well-meaning badger inviting an ashwinder over for tea, Theseus assured, "I'm not going to report you, Leta. I just need the book. I won't say another word about it."

Sidling three paces, Leta eyed him warily as though he might recoil and snatch her hand to drag her to the nearest authority. Though Newt often accused Theseus of having smile full of dragon teeth, he had never frightened Leta before. Even now she seemed cautiously intrigued as she knelt a safe distance away and reached into her cauldron. Crusted, yellow pages fell into her hand from the _Tales of Beetle the Bard_ cover. She placed the pages on the floor before her.

"It's time travel, isn't it?"

Flabbergasted by the brazen accusation, Theseus looked up sharply, his wand hand instinctively twitching to intervene. One little obliviation spell would do it, and yet...

"How could you possibly know?" he said breathlessly.

Leta scowled. "I'm not stupid. I've read about time-turners; Professor McGonagall has one. That's why you keep calling Artemis "Newt," isn't it? Newt Artemis Fido. Even Peeves could figure that out. And you're really his older brother, years from now."

"An astute observation," Theseus said, the honeyed lies of their journey weighing heavily on his tongue. "Am I to offer an apology to Newton now, for concealing knowledge that might have endangered him?"

 _Please understand,_ he silently implored her. _For his sake, I dared not speak a word._

"I don't tell," Leta said acidly. "Newt wouldn't believe me, anyways. You're his book of truth. If you say Artemis is his cousin, that's all he'll believe." Scowling, she added, "It's mean to lie to him. He doesn't deserve it."

"I've never lied to hurt him." The admission burned in his throat, for it was still an acknowledgement of guilt. He had betrayed a child's infallible trust, and this would not be his last failing. "Sometimes... when you want to protect someone..."

"I know. That's why I didn't tell him." Brown eyes were still cold, but they softened as Leta thumbed through the crackling pages of the old manuscript. Wordlessly she slid it toward Theseus. A gesture of trust.

Relief swept through Theseus' mind in painful waves, trembling through his hands as he flipped through the damaged manuscript. There. The missing pieces. They had succeeded after all. "Thank you, Leta," he said, trying to press the magnitude of her actions upon her. _You may have saved us all._

Drawing a deep breath, Leta posed uncertainly, "What about me? Are Newt and I still... friends where you come from?"

So much loneliness wrapped in that timid question, barricaded by coiled bars, woven into place one by one with each cruel remark or cold shoulder. For a moment Theseus longed to wrap his arms around those bowed shoulders and kiss her unruly curls. Now, more than ever, he was forced to hold back.

"You're the only friend that matters," he acknowledged gravely. "And you're always remembered."

The catch in his voice betrayed him, and before he could call back his words, he knew he had overstepped himself. Yet there was no fretfulness in Leta's expression, nor despair that her quaint world with Newt might change. She already understood the fragility of her happiness.

The shroud of an infant had claimed her innocence long ago.

"It'll be good memories, though," Leta said softly. "Not all bad?"

 _Who could think ill of you, Little One?_ Smiling with bitter nostalgia, Theseus reassured, "No. Never bad." It wasn't entirely a lie. Even if he never knew the reason Newt and Leta drew apart, the photograph in the case told him everything. Newt carried his most precious memories across entire continents. No grudge was enough to slake his forgiveness.

Without a doubt, Theseus knew that the possessor of the book would not be swayed by Grindelwald - no more now that seventeen years into the future. Thumbing through _Blood Bonds and Boundaries_ , he singled out the missing section and tore it free, tucking the pages into his coat. He stacked the two books together and held them out to Leta.

Camaraderie bled into those dark eyes, sealing them with quiet fidelity. Quickly Leta bundled the books into her cauldron. Theseus was already certain that the cover for _Blood Bonds and Boundaries_ was in her possession. He wasn't concerned. Leta would prove her loyalty one day, and he would love her all the more knowing what she could have been, and what she had chosen.

Waving feebly as the young Slytherin skittered to her class, Theseus sighed. This was the end of it, then. Eventually the book would be found and the past would continue as before. Their frail cover story had been compromised enough. It was time to go home.


	16. Chapter 16

_Tuesday, March 15, 1910_

* * *

He was lingering by Newt's office, swinging the door back and forth in contemplation, when screams erupted down the hall.

 _Peeves_ , was his first thought. The sniggering menace was probably plaguing an entire classroom with regales of Wee Willykins and the dollies. And right in the middle of Professor Beery's class, for that matter. How unfortunate.

 _Nine o'clock,_ he debated, closing the door. _He's still feeding the animals._

 _Perhaps he'll welcome an extra hand._ Open.

 _He's always a grumpy murtlap before he's had his morning tea._ Close.

 _He'll chipper up when he realizes we've succeeded._ Open.

Admittedly, Theseus wasn't ready to leave. He closed the door, leaning his forehead against the ridged wood. Their mission was completed, yet the most important matter was still unfinished. He couldn't leave Newt alone with these memories.

 _I need to speak with him now._ He tossed the door open, breathing deeply to prepare himself, and faltered inside the doorway.

Newt's case had been shoved to the side, small prints of mulch and trampled grass trailing from the magizoologist's domain. An empty cage lay beside it, the bolt melted in twain.

Cursing his aging mind, Theseus whirled to examine the door.

He had never unlocked it this morning.

Cackling squeals and furious trills sent him loping towards the greenhouse. There was only one source behind that manner of squall, and that was a swarm of Cornish pixies.

Even now he heard the frantic pelt of size thirty-seven black shoes.

"Stop! Stop, boy! See here, Scamander, come back at once!"

Barely two strides too late, Theseus grabbed for and missed the hurtling flurry of black robes. Newton spared one glance over his shoulder and the sight of Theseus seemed to spur him on.

"Newt, wait!" Theseus called.

"Blast that boy!" Beery exclaimed, still rounding whatever chaos had overthrown his Herbology class. "I'll have his ears for this!"

Theseus was already in pursuit. "Newt!" Confound it all, why did the boy always have to bolt at the most inconvenient times? "Newt, stop!"

Another harried look backward. Distracted, Newton barely swerved around the corner, his robe tearing on a torch fixture. Theseus skidded at the sharp turn, losing precious seconds. They were past nearing the central corridors, with passages and portraits and a thousand places to hide. If the pest wasn't so young Theseus would end this nonsense with a locomotor mortis. It seemed all too similar to a previous chase down the halls of a vault in Paris, when his brother was evading the law - again.

"Newt, stop!" Of course the boy didn't listen. He never would.

"Newt!" That was quite enough. Flinging out his wand, Theseus slammed shut the door before them, cornering the boy before he could spring to freedom. Newton skidded, too caught up in his momentum to stop himself before he collided with the dark wood. He pressed himself against the door, yanking on the ring as though dragonfire was fast on his heels. Pounding one fist against the ungiving wood, he fell against the barrier and sobbed.

"Newton Artemis Fido, that's quite enough," Theseus said, softer. Pocketing his wand, he edged closer to the second-year, his shoes lightly scraping against the floor. It seemed the boy was finished running; he didn't even try to retaliate with a stunning spell.

In fact, he didn't even think to reach for his wand.

"Oh, Newt," Theseus breathed, crouching before the quivering second-year. He reached out to brush back the messy curls and his heart wrenched as Newton flinched away from him. In a flash of a moment he imagined himself as the child, trapped in the corner of a dark hall, frightened and alone as the lion approached. This time the nundu wasn't here to scare off the boggarts. "Newt, I'm not... Do you really think I would...?"

"I'm sorry!" Newton babbled, crying into his hands as gentle hands tipped him into an embrace. "I didn't do it! I didn't!"

"Newt, hush!" Was this what his brother had seen at the vault? A fiery, scaled beast pursuing him to the death, with aurors and dementors and prison cells hovering in his wake? Theseus had only wanted Newt to wait; to listen; to stop running for once and comprehend how desperately he was trying to protect him.

Twenty-seven years of looking after his brother, and he was still the enemy.

"Newt, calm down," Theseus urged, kissing the frazzled curls and hugging the small one tightly. As though it was only a day since he had seen him off to the train. Only a moment since ash rained upon them and he held Newt with the fierce knowledge that it could have been a corpse he cradled. How could he _ever?_

"I'm not angry," Theseus whispered, heat sparking his eyes. "I've never been angry with you. Newt, listen to me. You've got to stop this. You must calm yourself. Merlin, how could you ever think that - "

He bundled the second-year closer as hot tears seeped through the shoulder of his coat. How many years had he been blind? How long had his brother been running... from him?

"You never - never - have to be afraid of me," Theseus swore. "I don't care if you're a magizoologist or a street musician. I don't care about your classes. You could be a dragon tamer or a chimney sweeper and I'll still be proud of you. I'll always be here for you. Just don't run away from me, Newt. Please. No more."

"I don't - I don't want to run," Newton gasped, small fingers digging into Theseus' shoulder. "I'm not scared - I'm not - I'm sorry, Theseus! Please believe me! I didn't loose the pixies!"

"Sh-sh-sh." The boy was going to work himself into a faint. Tugging a handkerchief from his pocket, Theseus mopped up the downtrodden face and coaxed, "Newt, calm down. I believe you. Just tell me what happened."

Hiccuping, Newt pressed the cloth against his face and rambled, "I was late - I forgot one of my books and I went to find it - and Professor Beery thought I did it on purpose - but I didn't do it, Theseus! Honest!"

"I know, I know," Theseus whispered. "Keep going."

"And - and - and then I tripped over one of the pots that was sticking out and a swarm of pixies rushed out of it - they must've already been in there 'cause we didn't see them - and Professor Beery thought it was me and Corwyn tried to grab my arm and I didn't know what to do and no one will believe me because I'm always the one in trouble and I'm trying, Theseus! I'm trying so hard!"

The wretched explanation dissolved into more tears, from which nothing sensible could be garnered. Tucking Newton's head under his chin, Theseus rocked back silently, waiting for the fit to abate.

 _Dear brother. If only you had confided in me before._ So many unwarranted fears that he could have eased in a moment.

He waited until the sobs abated into sniffles, and the ticking of his watch indicated that enough time had been spent. Regardless of Newton's innocence, they still had to answer to the professor. What did they have to fear? A few stray pixies? Theseus had conspired worse in his time.

In fact….

"What if I were to tell the professor that I routed a few Cornish pixies from Artemis' case?" Theseus proposed.

Fretfulness caving into wonder, Newton looked up with wide eyes. Lifting one eyebrow, Theseus said craftily, "Why not? I'm a Ministry inspector scrambling for excuses to dally about Hogwarts. I could've planted an infestation to keep my job."

"But you'll get in trouble," Newton realized.

"Tosh. What will they do - send me to France?" Grinning, Theseus eased his aching bones out from underneath the thirteen-year-old and stood, tugging Newton to his feet. "Come on, wipe your face now. We're going to have a little talk with Professor Bleary-Eyes. I wonder, did I ever tell you about the time I smothered his herb bed with licorice woodlice from Honeydukes? If you realized the detentions I survived at your age you'd never be afraid of the professors…."

* * *

"It was my responsibility, Professor."

The grim twitch of Professor Beery's eye was an extraordinary lack of response, given that a Cornish pixie was currently snarling and flapping about to escape a knotted tangle in his beard. Theseus prided himself on managing a straight face. Almost. (Truly, Newton was too petrified to react with anything more than wide-eyed terror. He really should have taught his brother how to successfully prank a professor.)

"You unleashed these abominations?" Beery rasped. Shattered pots and filthy footprints testified to an entire classroom's careless retreat. Whoever had inspired the pixies' release was well versed in the tenuous art of destructive shenanigans. No one had been injured or killed, but class was definitely canceled.

"I was... inspecting Artemis' case. Checking it for unwarranted creatures," Theseus said wryly. Contriving excuses was easier when he actually **_was_** the culprit. "I'm sure you realize that Cornish pixies are prohibited by law for private breeding and captivity and ... inbred captivity." Bother, he was rubbish without a script.

Professor Beery's eyebrows flew high in skepticism. "Are you implying that a member of the Pest Advisory Board is violating magical law?"

"No! No, certainly not." What a fine notion: absolve the blame on Newton and pass it along to Newt. "What I mean to say is..." Sighing, Theseus thrust his hands into his pockets and shook his head. "I released the pixies."

There was little surprise in Beery's eyes. "The years may pass, but a fool does not change with them. I had hoped you had superseded your old habits."

"I needed a task." Newt was right: a little truth mixed into the lie, and veritaserum itself could be fooled. "The Headmaster claimed my work was finished, and..." Theseus trailed off and glanced at Newton. Just as he expected, Professor Beery harrumphed.

"So you sabotaged the castle to prolong your stay." Shaking his head, the professor said, "I'm disappointed, Scamander. Misconduct aside, you were the best in your class. I expected a man of integrity to emerge from the Ministry."

What a daft old man. Theseus concluded his theory that the majority of humanity was already subject to an unspoken Imperius curse. No matter how clever their words, or extensive their knowledge in books and diplomacy, they only listened to what their itching ears wanted to hear. Leave the truth unsaid, allow them to draw their own conclusions, and they would believe anything. Small wonder that Grindelwald had deceived so many.

"I shall have to report this to the headmaster," Beery said gravely. "For now, I suggest you fetch Mister Caecilian and explain what you have done. I expect every pixie to be rounded up before my third-years arrive."

"Of course, Professor," Theseus said. He breathed a sigh of relief when - after another tsk of disapproval, the professor turned aside from the pair. One crisis absolved.

A tugging on his arm pulled his attention down to Newton. Though relief eclipsed the young face, the boy's fingers trembled with concern. "Theseus, won't you get in trouble?"

"Who, me?" Probably. Good heavens, he might even get himself fired. He hadn't considered that possibility.

 _Black can't interfere with the timeline,_ Theseus remembered. _No one in the Ministry will ever receive an official report for my reprimand._ He could probably burn down the castle and he would still be Head Auror seventeen years from now.

"Tosh and nonsense," he scoffed. "The headmaster knows me too well for that."

"I really didn't do it," Newton said glumly. "I was in the library before class - that's when Professor Beery said they were planted."

A disturbing thought occurred to Theseus, and he quickly nudged it away. Still, he couldn't help but recall that Leta had also been late for her first class.

"Best be off," he said lightly, determined to keep his suspicions to himself. "You still have classes to attend. I need to fetch Newt. I mean Artemis."

Cheekily Newton rolled his eyes. "You miss me that much while I'm at school?"

 _You have no idea._ Ruffling the dratted curls that would never be in order, even during Mother's most extravagant parties, Theseus scooted the boy off and retreated to Newt's office. Concern lengthened his stride as he cast the door open and tramped to the case, flipping the lid with enough force to smack the wall behind. Newt would never be so naive as to let someone walk off with his creatures - not while he was still in the case. One lesson with a muggle had been quite enough. He had wards in plenty that should have alerted him to an intrusive presence, which meant that Leta - the only one besides Newton who had seen the creatures - had infiltrated and lingered long enough to swipe a cage too bulky for a second-year to climb with unnoticed, and Newt hadn't been conscious enough of his own environment to reprehend her.

If, the devastating thought occurred, Newt had been conscious at all.

Throwing himself down the ladder, Theseus dashed an illumination spell into the dark space, listening with growing trepidation to the uneasy bellows of underfed predators.

"Newt...?"

 _"Newt!"_


	17. Chapter 17

**XYZArtemis requested a quick summary of events, so I figured I'd post it here in case anyone else lost track during the hiatus. (If things are still confusing for any of y'all, just mention it and I'll answer individual questions via PM.)**

 **Summary (up through chapter 16):** _Dumbledore sends Newt back in time to his second-year to find the book Blood Bonds and Boundaries and retrieve a few displaced pages, which may or may not help destroy the pendant created by Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Posing as a Health Inspector, Theseus tags along to keep Newt out of trouble. Theseus does not stay out of trouble. Dear older brother's interaction with Little Newton and Little Leta causes Newt great consternation. Theseus and Newt do not see eye to eye. Arguments ensue, Newt seems to have a debilitating condition that worries Theseus, but since when does Newt ever explain what's really wrong with him? Theseus is distracted because Little Newton seems to be the key to unravelling Newt's problems, but Little Newton is also having a trying school year and refuses to tell Theseus anything (a pox on all stubborn Scamanders). F_ _inally retrieving the displaced pages from Blood Bonds and Boundaries, Theseus is ready to wash his hands of the whole ordeal. Except that now he understands why Newt's school life was so harsh, and he really, really wants to break all the rules and give his brother a decent childhood. Being a nice older brother, he decides to respect adult Newt's choices and talk it over with him first._

 _Cue moments of frustration (and panic) for Theseus because it just gets worse from here..._

* * *

 _Tuesday, March 15, 1910_

* * *

Casting illumination into the light fixtures of the shed, Theseus pelted the three steps to his brother's bunk and knelt, prodding him gently. _Twelve hours since I was here last. Has he moved at all?_

"Newt. Newt! Come on, you never slept past six on your worst days and I doubt that's changed since your travels. Newt!" Hauling the younger wizard upright, Theseus gave him one hard shake.

To his relief hazel eyes snapped wide open, blearily fixing on him for a moment. Instantly a wand flashed into Newt's hand and a protego quite nearly threw Theseus across the room. Falling to his heels ungraciously, he ducked another flailing protection spell and grabbed Newt's wrist, easily yanking the wand away from him. A poor mistake, for their proximity was too close yet and Newt bowled into Theseus' stomach, one elbow digging into his throat while he scrabbled for his brother's hand. Bracing the wand as far from him as possible, Theseus snagged the back of Newt's collar and rolled, dragging the snarling wizard with him. A sound kick to the thigh left him howling. Triumphantly Newt pried his wand free, crawling away with a latent boot to Theseus' chin, only shambling upright when he had the open door at his back and his weapon in hand.

"Merlin's beard, Newt!" Theseus hollered, cradling his throbbing leg. "Are you always a manticore in the morning?"

"Theseus?" The daze of awakening melting away, Newt blinked rapidly at his brother and bolted to help him stand up. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize…."

"Remind me to warn Grindelwald before he attempts a home invasion," Theseus growled. Leaning against Newt, he hesitantly put weight on his leg. A solid bruise, nothing more. He would be rueful to admit that he'd been soundly beaten by his little brother.

"What are you doing here so early?" Newt wondered, glancing perturbed at the bright light outside. "It's not even six o'clock."

"Six?" Staring askance, Theseus looked over his brother again. Sleep encrusted eyes, a build had finally crossed the precipice from weedy to gauntness, and a twitching eyelid that testified to poor muscle control. "Newt, how long have you been asleep?"

"An hour?" Newt estimated, searching for his pocket watch. "You went to the Quidditch Pitch; I didn't expect you back until seven."

Alarm thudded with each beat of his fretful heart. "Newt, it's past nine o'clock," Theseus said. "You've been asleep for over twelve hours."

Stepping back against the ribbon of magically induced sunlight, Newt peeked through the cracked door and shook his head. "No. No, I haven't," he whispered, dragging a hand through his matted curls. "I just laid down for a minute. I took care of the animals and then… and then…."

"It's nearly mid-morning," Theseus emphasized. "Classes started over an hour ago. Someone snuck into your case and stole an entire cage of Cornish pixies and you didn't even notice! Newt, what is wrong with you?"

The threat to his creatures finally stole Newt from his haze. "Who snuck in?" he exclaimed, snatching for his rumpled suit coat. "What else did they take? Where are they?"

"No idea. Nothing else seemed to be missing. And why do you even have Cornish pixies?" Theseus wondered belatedly. "They're not endangered. They can't possibly be a food source."

"Backup plan," Newt said rapidly, flinging himself up the ladder. "In case the nifflers didn't work."

"They're scattered about the greenhouse," Theseus explained, following his brother to the surface. "One of the students must have released them, but I convinced Professor Beery that it wasn't you. He'll expect us to round them up."

"It won't make any difference. Black just wanted an excuse to fire me," Newt said, bolting his case shut the moment Theseus stepped out. Dispiritedly he plucked up the damaged cage, examining the melted lock. "I'll have to find another way to look for the book."

"Actually, I - "

Before Theseus could reveal his discovery, a renewed chorus of shrieking howls sent Newt pelting for the greenhouse. Thank heavens some energy was back in his stride. Perhaps a fourteen-hour nap was all that he had needed after all - so Theseus delusioned himself as he ran after his brother, not missing the way Newt hovered disconcertedly before selecting the correct door to the greenhouse. After seven years of living in the castle, one could not easily forget where the classrooms were situated.

"I've got to get them back in the cage," Newt exclaimed, ducking and snatching for a pixie that careened for the door. "I only borrowed them. There should be fourteen."

"Who lends out Cornish pixies?" Theseus snarked, dragging one out of a thorny vine. He flapped his right hand agitatedly, wiping blood on his trousers. "Look for thirteen - I think the venomous tentacula is digesting one." Grimacing at the twitching blue legs sticking out from a mass of green tendrils, he leapt onto the table to grab at another cackling creature before it could meet the same fate.

"I don't understand," Newt said, bracing the open cage on the table for Theseus' catch. "I was in here earlier. Why didn't I round them up before?"

"Your exasperating little doppelganger disturbed them," Theseus said. "They've only been in here for half an hour."

"Yes, I but I saw them released!" Newt insisted. "I was in the classroom - the - the greenhouse. Why didn't I stop them?"

Distress twisting his expression, he clambered up one on the poles, wheedling a gnashing pixie off of a hanging pot. A brief glance below proved him stupefied as to how to proceed further, for he tried stuffing the pixie into his pocket to free his hands.

 _For goodness' sake,_ Theseus thought, rolling his eyes. _It's only a matter of time before he falls._

Snatching up the cage and letting the door flop open, he pointed his wand towards the ceiling and shouted, _"Accio Pixies!"_

A cascade of shrieking blue forms swiveled towards him, drumming into the cage in a hurtle of crunching wings and snapping teeth. Several dismembered limbs detached from the venomous tentacula, twitching still as they plonked against the bars. The last pixie tore free of Newt's savaged pocket and rammed into the score, falling back dazed as Theseus clapped the door shut and melded it.

"Is this how you always do things?" he realized, shaking his head at Newt's disheveled state. "Tell me you didn't woo the occamy back into your case."

"I didn't want them hurt!" Newt protested, sliding down gingerly. He stamped to the table, snatching the cage away and cringing as the pixies lolled about, dazed and crumpled from their sudden descent. As he brushed past Theseus he muttered, "The Ministry can't help but lock everything away, can it?"

Gawking, Theseus stared after him for a moment. _We're back to the rift before Paris already. I thought we had finished this argument!_ "Hold on!" he shouted, sprinting after his brother. Newt was already trotting down the ladder, holding the battered cage like a martyr's torch. "In all the years we've been at odds, have I ever threatened to lock you away?"

"You've mentioned it often enough," Newt snapped, cradling a pixie whose wings hung limp and distorted. "All those warnings about Azkaban and Grindelwald's fanatics. I think I fully understand your obligations."

"Obligations?" Theseus snarled. "You think I'm _obligated_ to send my brother to jail?"

"You're the head auror," Newt said curtly. "It's your responsibility to oversee all magical threats and perpetrators."

"As if I would!" Theseus said, slamming his palms on the table. Newt jumped, his eyes widening marginally, yet he refused to look up from his administrations. "Eighteen years, Newt! It's been eighteen years since you first left for school. Why do you hate me now?"

"I don't - I don't hate you." At last Newt met his eyes, devastation ringing the animosity in his expression. "Don't blame this all on me, Theseus. I didn't grow up wishing I didn't have an older brother. Things just happened."

"Things happened. That's all I ever hear. What things?" Forgoing the chair, Theseus perched on the edge of the table, looming over his brother so that all attention was forced on the largest predator in the room. To Newt's credit, he did not shrink away.

"I … you didn't… I grew up," Newt said haphazardly, spreading a salve that smelled sharply of dittany on the pixie's wings before returning it to the cage. "You weren't there. That's all."

When a hurt bled so deep, one could only respond in anger or in tears. Gritting his teeth, Theseus asked, "When? When wasn't I there, Newt? Was it my expectations? Was I too much like our father to make it up during the summers? Did you want me to pull you from school?"

"No - No!" Newt babbled, in full retreat under the onslaught. "You weren't… I wasn't… Look, we shouldn't discuss this now. The creatures are all waiting to be fed and - "

"Seventeen years I've been waiting for an explanation," Theseus said. "Now I find out that your second-year representation is ecstatic to see me. What changed, Newt? When does he begin to dread seeing his older brother, because I'd like some fair warning before he runs off again!"

"I didn't…!" Clenching his fists over the table, Newt answered with more control, "I didn't run. You were off busy doing important things, anyways. I didn't think you had the time anymore."

There was something lost and hurt in that statement. A breath of loss so veiled that Theseus could only remember hearing it a few times in the most recent days, and that from a child. "Every summer I wrote you," he said. "I told you when I was coming home. I made time to be there for every train. You were so young - did you think I would let you go into the world on your own?"

"And when I grew up," Newt said thickly. "Is that when the novelty wore off?"

Startled, Theseus searched for the meaning. "Whatever are you talking about?"

Scrubbing his sleeve over his nose, Newt answered, "When I started changing. Which year was it? Fourth year? The year I was expelled? It wasn't my choice to grow up, Theseus. No one ever wants that. I just thought it wouldn't matter. Family bonds and all, I didn't realize that…."

Throwing his hands in the air, Theseus implored, "Newt, what are you babbling on about?"

"Look, I wasn't the only one who changed!" Newt said, his voice rising in a wavering pitch. "Everything you are with Leta - I hadn't seen that for years, and all of a sudden you're - he's - you're you around him and I can't help but wonder."

"Wonder?" Theseus prodded when the silence dragged. "Wonder what? If I loved Leta more than you? How could you possibly compare - "

"No! No, that's not it and you know it isn't!" Sighing raggedly, Newt dragged his hands over his face, looking as though he hadn't slept for three days. "I just… I'm sorry I'm not what I was then. I'm sorry I couldn't stay like that forever."

Had a mirror smashed behind them, it couldn't have startled Theseus more. "You mean Newton?" he realized. "You think I'm comparing you to - what - yourself?"

"You have this chance," Newt said, his hands trembling as he tucked the pixie inside the cage and carefully secured the door. "I know what… what it means to you. I won't stop you, Theseus, I swear. I just thought… I thought it wouldn't matter. That we were family and… and…."

"Newt," Theseus said softly.

With a wretched heave of sorrow Newt admitted, "I can't do it, Theseus! I tried for years to be everything you wanted and I just can't do it anymore. You're hoping that you'll find the key to fixing me here, but you can't change a lifetime in the span of one term."

"Newt!" Jarring to his feet, Theseus started towards his brother, hesitating when Newt stalled. "Is that what you think? You believe I never saw you as … as good enough?" What a wretched way to perceive one's entire life. "Newt, I only wanted you to be _happier_ at school."

"But it won't make any difference," Newt argued, goading Theseus to understand his reasoning. "This is only second year. You'll think differently when you see what happens. The letters home, my failing marks…."

"And what happened in sixth year?" Theseus interjected quietly. Merlin, his brother was so close to shivering apart. He longed to gather him up like a child and lay his fears to rest, but Newt was right; the past had altered them both. "Newt, what happened?"

"You already know!" Newt said, moving to place the table between them again. "I failed my sixth year. I was sent home. Mother and Father would have told you all about it."

"You never told me," Theseus said. "Of everyone in London, I wanted to hear it from one person. I wrote you over and over, and you never answered. Not one letter for eleven years."

Qualiling, looking all of thirteen and eleven and four years old, Newt ducked his head. "I didn't read them," he murmured. "I didn't want to hear it from _you_ , last of all. That I was a … that I'd never be… I just couldn't."

Heat flaring in his eyes, driving to his cheekbones past the stone in his throat, Theseus grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill. Slowly, achingly, pouring every ounce of his love and sympathy into those familiar words, he scrawled one sentence and slid it towards Newt.

"Every letter," he said numbly. "I sent you a packet of scholarship opportunities to various schools so you could finish. When you didn't reply, this is all I ever asked."

One letter. Eight words. Empty years, waiting alone.

 _Will you meet me at the station this afternoon?_

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Newt turned away. Shoulders bent and trembling. Silent shudders wracking his frame. Approaching cautiously, Theseus pressed a hand against his brother's shoulder.

"Will you talk to me this once?" he whispered.

It was the sob of a decade of anguish that wrenched out of his brother. Hands that were lonely and afraid that clung to him as Newt was pulled into his arms, a lost child and a tormented young man. A man who had run all his life, certain that he would be turned away, while all the while the very one he feared had yearned to prove the constancy of a brother's love. _Why did it take you so long?_ Theseus implored silently. _Why couldn't you believe in me? I was always waiting for you to come home._

"No more of this," he begged, bracing the tousled head against his shoulder. "Just stop running, Newt! You can trust me."

"I thought… I didn't think… I never meant..." Shaking his head, Newt detangled himself and scrubbed at his eyes, squinting as though the lamps were too bright. "Everything's different and wrong; it's all burning inside of my head. You were there but then you weren't. I don't know where we stand anymore. I hardly know which one I am, Theseus. Everything's muddled. I don't - I don't understand. I'm so _tired_ … _!_ "

"Newt - Newt - _Newt!_ " Stumbling, Theseus flung out his arms, catching his brother just as he started to sway. "Newt, what's wrong? What aren't you telling me? What's ailing you? _Newton!"_


	18. Chapter 18

_Still Tuesday, March 15, 1910_

* * *

"Madam MacQuoid!"

If the panic in Theseus' voice wasn't enough to spur the nurse to action, the sight of Newt slung in his arms sent her bustling to clear the nearest bunk. "Set him here," Madam MacQuoid urged, drawing back the linens and reaching to unknot Newt's shoelaces. "What befell him? Quick now!"

"He collapsed," Theseus said briskly, laying out his lanky brother and tugging off the other shoe. Newt was so pale. Had he been ill all along, and their journey only exacerbated the symptoms? Theseus pressed a hand against the tepid forehead. No alteration in temperature, yet Newt failed to stir. "He's been having headaches; for how long I don't know."

"Goodness me," MacQuoid murmured, hovering her wand over her patient. "Does he have a history of fainting episodes?"

"I've never seen him in such a state," Theseus said, distressed by the erratic beat in his brother's wrist. "He fell asleep early last night, and he was barely aware of his surroundings this morning."

"I can't detect any physical symptoms," MacQuoid said, snapping her wand back and shaking her head. "There's no head trauma to account for, though I'm sure he's concussed himself in his occupation once or twice."

Theseus opened his mouth to concede that a magizoologist's lifestyle was nearly as dangerous as that of an auror's, before he realized she was indeed referring to the Pest Advisory Board. Even a "mundane" position in the Ministry warranted disaster for his brother. E _xactly how have you been protecting him all this time?_

"Saint Mungo's may be your best hope," MacQuoid advised. "There's little I can do without knowing the source."

 _That isn't an option,_ Theseus thought grimly. They daren't risk a public hospital - not in this timeline. Even ten years advancement meant a difference in treatment, and if word of his presence was made public... no, they had interfered enough.

 _I can take him home now,_ he considered, the light rustle of parchment a heavy weight inside his suit coat. _We have what we need. He should be properly treated by the family doctor._

Though absent during Newt's later travels, Barnaby Culpepper knew more about the Scamander boys' escapades than their own mother. Back in the early days Theseus had no qualms about dragging Newt from his desk to be inspected for no more than a sniffle. If anyone was aware of a family history of headaches, it would be Culpepper.

The door swung open, interrupting his musings, and he straightened in perturb as Professor Dumbledore strode inside.

"Madeline," Dumbledore said cordially, nodding to the nurse. "I came as soon as I heard."

"I can't say what's the matter," MacQuoid fretted. "I can detect neither spells nor sickness. Perhaps it's a weakness of the bloodline."

"I regret that I have no answers," Dumbledore told her. "But I trust that he is in the best of hands."

Abruptly he turned to Theseus. "Mister Scamander. A word, please?"

Hesitating, Theseus looked down at Newt's lax features, at the white hand clasped limply in his own. _You cannot ask me to leave him now. Not without knowing what is amiss._

"It may regard your brother," Dumbledore said mildly. A distinct lilt in his eyebrows warned Theseus that there was more to be discussed than a few marks on a school assignment. Jaw clenched, he tucked Newt's hand under the covers and cast his brother one last fleeting glance before following after the professor.

Dumbledore's tread was purposeful but not hasty, his decisive approach a beacon to Theseus' faltering sense of control. The professor opened a door just outside the hospital wing, beckoning Theseus inside.

"Madam MacQuoid's personal office," Dumbledore explained briefly. "She'll forgive a slight intrusion."

"Do you know what's happening to him?" Theseus asked without preamble. "Have you seen this before? In Newt's classes?"

"I haven't," Dumbledore admitted shaking his head. "But the manner in which you phrased your question confirms my suspicions."

Inclining his head towards the hospital wing, Dumbledore gandered, "That would be Mister Scamander, I take it?"

"Just a family resemblance," Theseus lied easily.

"Not just a resemblance, I think." Dumbledore's voice was irrefutable as he stated, "I've seen time travel before, Theseus. Never to this extent. _Never_ in direct contact with any person correlating to the traveler's own past."

"What clued you in?" Theseus asked ruefully. Of course Dumbledore would know. A man of his wisdom couldn't evade his own tactics.

"It's rather obvious, isn't it?" Dumbledore said with a faint smile. "You've both aged, but some things don't change." His wry tone fell away as he inquired, "Why are you here?"

Grimacing, Theseus reached into his coat. "You sent us for these."

When Dumbledore reached out, Theseus faltered. The irreplaceable parchments; the very reason Newt had been willing to fling himself into a suicidal venture for the same man who sent him into the heart of Grindelwald's web. Twice. Without them, it would be one more futile risk. One more reason to question the man before him.

Sensing a grave apprehension that Theseus was not willing to share, Dumbledore withdrew his hand. "Why here?" he asked. "Why this time?"

"These pages vanish by the end of the term," Theseus said, returning the parchments to his inner pocket. "Seventeen years from now no one will find a copy."

"Seventeen years?" Dumbledore said incredulously. "Why would I risk sending any wizard over that space of time - let alone two of my former students? So much can be altered within minutes of setting foot in the past!"

"I assume you understood the risks," Theseus said tartly. "You discussed it with Newt in great detail before he informed me."

A glint of clarity flashed across Dumbledore's eyes. "How are you and Newt?" he asked lightly.

Rankled by the distractive statement (he always hated it when Dumbledore skirted around an awkward subject), Theseus said thinly, "Fine. Just fine. Why else would you - "

"But you're not fine," Dumbledore interjected. "There's no sense denying it, Theseus. I've seen the two of you interact. One would think you were strangers cooperating for the sake of your mission. I don't recall young Newton regarding you with the same indifference."

 _Indifference._ How casually one professor could sum up the past seventeen years. Theseus's attempt at hiding a wince turned it into a sallow curl of his nose. "Things… happened," he said uneasily. "We didn't have an understanding." _Strange how much one can learn in the passage of a single week._

"I'm sensing an alteration in your perspective," Dumbledore ventured. "What did you find?"

 _Childhood. Fidelity. Family._ "Comprehension," Theseus said.

"And… you're still sure I only sent you after those pieces of paper," Dumbledore countered. "Seems an awful lot of trouble for one minor spell. I could've ventured back myself for - say, five hours and taken a photograph."

"Why, you infamous, mischievous meddler," Theseus breathed. "You sent us here intentionally?"

Spreading his hands, Dumbledore answered, "How would I know? I won't arrive at this decision for another seventeen years. I might say, the Ministry has done you ill. You look like you haven't slept in weeks."

" _Newt_ hadn't slept in weeks," Theseus corrected harshly. "He neglected himself - obsessing over _your_ quest - and he wouldn't heed a wit of caution. Now he's practically falling apart and he wouldn't even tell me _why!_ "

"Theseus, you've been here for _eight_ days," Dumbledore stressed, his expression suddenly absent of all cheer. "Surely you realized how it might affect him."

"Affect him?" Theseus said in a small voice. _The sleepless nights… the headaches… surely he's not implying that…_ "I've done nothing to jeopardize my brother," he said fervently. "I've only tried to help him - in what little ways I can."

"Yes, but don't you see what you're doing, Theseus?" Dumbledore said. "You should never have spoken with Newton at all. You shouldn't even _be_ here. Every moment of interaction is interfering with your brother's past. You're rewriting him even as we speak."

"No - no, you said that wouldn't happen," Theseus snarled. "He's young. The past is malleable. He cannot be changed!" _Merlin, he can't be implying that I could… that he could ... I_ _ **won't**_ _lose him like this!_

"Of course it's _malleable_ ," Dumbledore said, his tone laced with the same pity that Theseus had hated during his youth. "He's a child. He can be influenced in any way during these trembling years. You could have sent Grindelwald to this timeline and he might have - "

"Don't you dare insinuate that!" Theseus interjected. "Newt would never ally himself with that murderer!"

"He's not a …." Ashen, Dumbledore fell silent. All too late Theseus remembered that seventeen years might have changed other alliances as well.

"How did it happen?" Dumbledore asked softly. "No. No, don't tell me. I dare not know." His hand shook as he scrubbed it over his face, forcing composure, and for an instant Theseus saw himself in that horrified gaze, remapping Newt's destruction as his brother left the path they had both sworn to defend.

In that instant he realized how much courage it took to send two men into the past in order to destroy that one person.

"Do you have what you need?" Dumbledore said, visibly shaken by the veracity of Theseus' statement. When Theseus nodded he said, "Then you must not delay. You must see your brother home at once. Every moment here enangers who he is and who he will become."

Pouring over those words, Theseus found himself murmuring without thought, "Would it be for his good?"

"What was that?"

Flinching out of his daze, Theseus snapped upright and clarified, "This year. I never understood how difficult it was for him. Perhaps if intervention was made at this time…."

Incredulously Dumbledore shook his head. "You would be choosing between your brothers, Theseus. There's no other way to consider it. Newt will not be the same man you once knew."

"But he could be better for it." _For the greater good_ echoed in his head, and he dashed away the slithering memory. "He would be happier. Perhaps… safer."

"And how are you to determine that future?" Dumbledore said gently. "Will you stay for twenty years, hoping that he will exceed your lifetime untouched? Will your younger counterpart be separated from him forever while you re-experience his childhood? How will that change your own future?"

Theseus shifted his feet, setting his jaw in refusal to answer.

"Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle in the past," Dumbledore said. "Are you willing to lose your brother in order to save him?"

Drawing a deep breath, Theseus said tonelessly, "Is that all, Professor?"

Undaunted by the dismissal of his most stubborn of students, Dumbledore nodded towards the door. "Take a walk, Theseus. You'll want to make your decision by tomorrow, I expect. You don't have much time."

 _Time to think? Time for you to tire of our nonsense? Time for Black to kick us out?_

 _Time for Newt?_

Angered by the revelations, disturbed that he had to question his own motives, a quandary he was not used to searching within himself, Theseus gave a clipped nod and saw himself out the door. He let it swing quietly shut behind him, torn between the hospital wing and the hall stretching far ahead. For Newt he would change the past. He would do anything to save his brother.

He couldn't imagine the horror of returning to an abject stranger.

* * *

 **Thank you to XYZArtemis, Guest, and SonofWhitebeard for reviewing!**


	19. Chapter 19

_Eternally Tuesday, March 15, 1910_

* * *

Theseus did not leave Newt's bedside for a professor's advice, or a necessity to "clear his head." He could think well enough while watching over his brother. But the case was still in the office, and Newt would have fretted to know that his creatures were restless and unattended. Pressed to do something useful as the morning bled into early afternoon, Theseus broke away from his vigil, imploring the nurse to inform him the moment Newt awakened. For he would wake, of this Theseus was certain. He hadn't lost his brother yet.

He merged with the flow of students trotting to their next class, as detached and restless as a headmaster who hated his job. Despite the triangles of sunlight pressing through every window, the halls seemed to adopt his melancholy air. Oblivious and untouched by the future, children scooted around him, filling the corridors with their drivel. Only one bright swathe of green stepped aside and captured Theseus in the midst of his brooding.

"You didn't tell," Leta said, dark eyes warily appraising him, weighing the potential motives of altruism versus avarice. "Why didn't you do it?"

Children had the worst possible timing. Frustrated, Theseus glanced down the corridor. He couldn't linger with her now, and yet every pure thought might hang on his words on this last, dismal afternoon. A child's trust was truly the most costly treasure.

And if the future carried out as it would, this might be the last time he saw her.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Theseus envisioned the beauty he would sweep into his arms. The devilish smile and airy laugh as she goaded him to chase after her. The sympathy softening her placid mask as she placed a coin in a muggle's tin cup. The royalty with which she carried herself; the pride which bore her through sorrow and humiliation. He would never hold her again.

He crouched down to view the child, his voice breaking as he envisioned their final moments together. "One day, you will understand. Blood does not make a family, Leta. Ties of the heart outlive every spell."

 _Look for me someday,_ he implored. When endless days of summer lay before her, filled with love and hope for one more season of her brief and isolated life, while he would depart alone. Smiling briefly, Theseus tucked his hands into his pockets, resisting the desire to smooth down that errant curl, for such a gesture was for one who was fully grown and dazzling in an emerald gown, and he would not taint it with a shadowed memory.

"If you need anything, go to the aurors," he concluded, berating his clumsy words. He could whirl spells around boggarts and dementors, and yet he couldn't tell a little girl that one day she would be loved without catch or clause. "We'll always look out for you."

 ** _I_** _will be there for you. I will never turn you away._

Leta tilted her head, perturbed by an indication that Theseus hoped would haunt her in the years to come. If he could but prove there was loyalty outside of blood purity and house colors, that companionship endured all trials outside of these hollow walls, then perhaps she would leave without the eternal shroud of doubt, questioning her place in the world. Perhaps she would never wonder if Grindelwald's lies veered towards redemption. Perhaps...

The bells resounded, shattering the moment, and the wisp of green departed with bowed head. So many years before her. So many broken dreams and insults to endure.

 _I'll be waiting for you,_ Theseus called silently. _When you need affirmation, I'll be there._

The last scuttling student cleared the hall. Alone in the passage of doors, Theseus meandered in silence. The future was too grim to mull upon yet.

* * *

It wasn't easy distinguishing the animals' individual needs without Newt pestering him with passive-aggressive scolds and pleas of _"No - No, let me do that one, I know what I'm doing, Theseus."_ He took after their mother - all fire and fury wrapped up in a bumbling magical facade that was no more harmful than a fluffy rabbit. Armed with a wand. And a steel bucket.

 _And they wonder why I hesitated to let him move to the Beast department,_ Theseus mused, flinging a chunk of raw squid into the kelpy's lake. _Dragons and Newt - he doesn't need any more inspiration for that temper._

Although appeased by fresh meat and quiet bellies, the predators made it clear through bared teeth and unsheathed claws that Theseus was not welcome without their peacock-garbed caretaker. The graphorns scampered, veering as close to dripping red chunks as they dared without dropping their guard around the unknown wizard. The occamies hissed, rattling agitatedly at his scent, and Theseus was pretty sure the nundu took a swipe at his head as he passed close to its rock.

They all needed Newt.

Dashing a few wood lice around the bowtruckle tree, Theseus offered a hapless shrug to the disgruntled green twigs and sighed. "I know. I'm not him."

Newt would be more simpatico with these odd monstrosities, probably murmuring sweet nothings and pattering about like a mother cat missing half her litter. Whatever nonsense filled his head at school, it had never countered his infinite knowledge of magical beasts. His late distractions simply didn't reflect on the meticulous organization of his lair.

 _Tell me what went wrong and we'll do it over,_ Theseus swore. _We'll find a quiet place to holiday; set you back to rights. You can't leave your creatures alone for long, depending on this old fool to keep them entertained._

He didn't voice the pitted concern, even in his thoughts. But if one were to be alone... if one were to realize the possible depth of his choices... he feared less for the animals than for...

Wiping his grimy hands on a kerchief, he snagged his coat off of a branch and trudged back to the shed. Newt would be alright. He always turned around, no matter what befell him. Give it a morning and a few restorative potions. He would be fine.

Soft cries halted him before he could take two steps past the door. Like a snuffling pup, or a wounded fawn, the muffled sounds broke above the occasional sniff. Casting his coat over a chair, Theseus stole past the table and crept over the rag nest, stooping down to whisper to the huddle of black cloth.

"Newt?"

Lunging upright, fear burning bright in hazel eyes, Newton straightened his too-short sleeves and hastily scrubbed away his tears. Clutched against his chest was a trembling black niffler - Newt's first little scamp, Theseus recognized from the scarred paws.

"What are you doing here?" he asked gently, taking care not to startle the child any further. "Don't you have class?"

"I thought you might be leaving," Newton gulped, steadying himself by stroking down the niffler's bedraggled fur. "Annie said that Artemis was sick. So I went looking and I found the other nifflers for him. They're all in the cage, even Pudsey. This one didn't want to stay in there."

"Well, she doesn't belong in a cage," Theseus said, tickling the niffler's head with one finger. "She has her own den if I recall."

"Yes, but Artemis has her look after the smaller ones," Newton said. His voice brightened as the niffler calmed under his touch. "She has such awful scars. What happened to her?"

"She's one of Newt's first strays," Theseus commented absently. He still shivered to recall that drizzly morning when he realized that the peril of dark magic was no longer limited to the war. When London no longer was safe for his brother.

"You keep saying that," Newton said somberly. "Is it because of me? Was I named after him? Do I remind people of him?"

Huffing fondly, Theseus knelt beside the bunk and looked into those troubled green eyes, so clear and untainted by the betrayal of sixth year. _If only I could keep you this way forever._

"Perhaps he makes me think of you," Theseus said. "And when I watch him tend his creatures, I imagine your future."

Exhilaration banished unhappiness in the flippant joy of childhood. "You wouldn't mind?" Newton exclaimed. "If I wanted to work with animals, I mean. Even if I didn't join the Ministry. Do you think Mother and Father would let me? Could I go to China and see a zouwu in the wild? Will you take me to France when they send you? Do you think Artemis will let me keep Pudsey?"

For an instant his worries for Newt vanished and he remembered how giddy one could feel, laughing over a boy's ceaseless questions. Merlin, he had missed these days. He would mourn their passing.

"I'd ask to keep the matron niffler, but I think Artemis likes her the most." Beaming, Newton cuddled the niffler under his chin, and it was then that Theseus saw the marks.

"Newt, what did you do to your hand...?" Tentatively he reached out for the small fingers, hoping that it was only a wisp of shadow fooling his eyes.

Gasping, Newton plonked his hands back into his lap, comforting the niffler as she squirmed. "It's nothing. I fell."

Confirmation burned like a hot coal in his stomach. Straightening, Theseus commanded in a low voice, "Newt, let me see your hands."

"I didn't..."

Each breath shuddered as Newton allowed him to untuck his fingers. Clenching his jaw for control, Theseus asked slowly, "Who did this?"

"No one. I fell." Just as quickly Newton yanked back his hands, concealing the red stripes under the niffler's downy black fur.

"Newton." He would never have believed it. Not in Hogwarts. Not to a child. "Which class?"

"I didn't...!" Shivering, Newton babbled, "I just wanted to get Pudsey back. I thought he was gone. I wasn't playing around in there, honest!"

"Who struck you, Newt?" Professor or none, he would turn the man into a ferret and dunk him in the prefects' bath until his brain was sloshed with soap suds. And then he'd lock him in Newt's case. With the nundu.

"It was an accident," Newton jabbered on. "I fell against the cabinet and I knocked some old pot onto the floor and it smashed into pieces, and the headmaster said if he found me snooping around his office again he'd knot my tie to a broom and send me home before the term was over and Father would make me study through the whole summer if that happened - you know he would - and he was going to hit Pudsey with some awful spell and I wouldn't let him do it and I'm sorry, I know I'm supposed to mind the teachers but I couldn't let him - "

"Newt! Stop talking and take a deep breath." Theseus' hands shook as he gripped his brother's narrow shoulders. "You were in the headmaster's office? Is that how this happened?"

"Yes, but he was going to curse Pudsey!" Newton repeated. "I didn't mean to knock him over. I just lost my balance and there was already glass on the floor and I think he cut himself but it was an accident! I swear!"

And for that reason he found it excusable to strike a child. Anger swarming through him like dragon fire, Theseus hooked his hands under Newton's elbows and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. We're going to talk to him right now."

Immediately the child balked, falling back against the pile of blankets. "Oh Theseus, please don't tell him on me!" he implored. "I'm already in enough trouble! He's going to write Mother and Father and I'll be grounded until next Christmas. Please don't make me go back there again."

"Newt, I'm not going to…." Mercy, was it possible to have one sensible, responsible conversation with the boy? _Never_ , Theseus acknowledged ruefully. Newt was simply too fragile at this age. He'd forgotten how easily his brother could fragment, before….

 _Before what? What changed?_

 _Before he realized there was no one to run to,_ Theseus finally understood. Four years of enduring the taunts of his classmates and haranguing from the headmaster, and still being ushered onto that train despite his anxiety, had taught him not to expect help from his brother. To seal himself inside and bear it until he could finally escape. What a wretched, slow death for his inquisitive spirit. It was a marvel he had retained that gentle compassion through his later years.

 _I could still make it right. I could save him from this._

Did he dare?

 _'Every moment of interaction is interfering with your brother's_ past,' Dumbledore had warned. ' _You're rewriting him even as we speak…..'_

He couldn't.

He oughtn't.

He shouldn't.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain wrenching his heart, Theseus sank onto the bunk and pulled Newton into his arms. This was the last time, he sensed. The last embrace. Those few precious, scant minutes when his brother would see him as a hero and not a plaintiff. The last time he would treasure Newt's childhood.

"It won't happen again," Theseus vowed. "You needn't fear the headmaster. I'll talk with him."

"I won't do it again!" Newton swore adamantly. "Please don't tell Father!"

"Shush. Stop worrying yourself. I'm not telling anyone." This was it, then. The last, snatching attempt to tether a child's trust. To prove that he was never the enemy.

He said nothing more. He merely sat with his brother, holding him until the shivers eased, trailing his wand down each palm until the red marks faded into pink, healthy skin. Until the waning daylight of the case warned him that he had lingered too long. Newt was not here. His brother was upstairs, ailing and lost, and he could no longer squander his time with a figment of the past.

Yet how he would miss these moments.

Squeezing his little brother one last time, Theseus flopped the sleeping niffler off the boy's lap and nudged him to his feet. "It's late. You should go back to the dorm before your housemates miss you."

"Will I be in trouble?" Newton asked glumly, resigned now to the extent of his crimes.

"Posh. I'll write Father and tell him all about it before the headmaster can report. You know how he laughs whenever he reads my letters." The guarantee brought a smile to Newton's grim outlook, just as Theseus anticipated. He had to visit the owlery one more time, anyways. He'd pilfered enough of Newton's mail carrying postal stamps from France, and though he intended to give them to his brother one day, it would not happen during this century. It was time to send one more letter home and allow the present to continue unhampered.

 _'Dear Father,'_ he imagined, already dictating the letter in his mind. ' _I dropped by Hogwarts during a quiet moment. I'm sure Newt has written to you already, if not the Headmaster of the Pot. Why such a disgraceful term for our honored headmaster, might you ask? Well, there might have been an incident with a chamber pot that he concealed under the poorly misused Sorting Hat…..'_

* * *

Theseus scarcely rapped twice on the ominous door before he let himself in, tossing a silver clock lightly before fixing the headmaster with a stern glare. "A word, if you please."

Dumbstruck by the intrusion during a private meeting with the matron nurse and the Flying instructor, Professor Black swivelled in his chair and barked, "You may schedule an appointment to discuss any concerns. I'm currently occupied with more important matters."

"Nothing is more important than my brother." Nodding respectfully to Madam MacQuoid and Professor Moore, the latter of whom leaned back idly with the most bemused expression on his face, Theseus stepped up to the desk and plonked the silver clock onto the corner. "If I may have a moment, Professor Black."

Perhaps it was an illusion of the light, but the professor's eyes seemed to flicker towards his staff as though seeking reassurance from their presence. "Whatever is to be said does not require closed doors," he said gruffly. "Speak your mind, Scamander, and then get out of my office."

What an odious, shrewd little man. Aware that he must choose his words carefully, lest he reveal his true mission in front of the staff, Theseus planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward until Black was forced to incline his head to meet his steely gaze. For once, he would not hold back on fear of losing the headmaster's respect. For once he would speak his mind.

"If you ever… _ever_ … strike my brother again," Theseus warned, slowly enunciating every word, not missing the way Moore tensed or MacQuoid hid a gasp behind her calloused hand, "I will pull him from this school, and hang the consequences on the future."

Something glimmered in Black's eyes, whether belligerence or disbelief, Theseus cared little. The presence of the teachers ensured that his oath could be no bluff. "Your brother is a rebellious, uncontrollable child," Black said coldly. "I disciplined him fairly, as was the old fashion."

"Headmaster, we haven't used such methods in years," Moore interjected, his gentle eyes lancing with sympathy as he glanced at Theseus.

"And for the boy…." MacQuoid murmured.

Sensing that he was losing face in the presence of his staff, Black curled his lip and proposed in a stifled tone, "You wouldn't risk his livelihood for the sake of a rapped palm. He'll never be the wizard you anticipate if you defend him against every paltry offense."

A subtle, insinuated warning that the interference of now would jeopardize all that Newt could become. Theseus would not be moved. "I would do it for him," he growled. "This is your last warning, Black. If he is ever hurt again I will find out, and I will rewrite his future if that's what it takes to save him from you."

"Professor Black," MacQuoid whispered. Concern mingled now with distrust, and Theseus knew he had initiated an irreversible recourse, for though in his history he had never known Black to be forthright cruel, the echoes of misconduct would now follow the headmaster through the watchful eyes of every professor for the remainder of his ruling.

Newton would never feel threatened again, although Black's span as a headmaster might be shorter lived than anticipated. Gravely Theseus accepted the consequences of his decision. If the forthcoming generations hesitated to put a serpent upon the throne - if the name of Slytherin was degraded into a crude taunt by those who remembered an ill-tempered professor - then he must accept his responsibility for tampering with the past. He could not allow himself to regret. His brother's welfare would always come first.

Nodding once in somber farewell, Theseus dismissed himself.

It was time to leave this sordid castle behind them.

* * *

 **My schedule is like... nope. Not even going there. -_-**

 **Thank you to XYZArtemis, Guest1, MollyzEpic, and AndurilofTolkien for reviewing!**


	20. Chapter 20

_Everything Bad Happens on Tuesday..._

* * *

Confronting the headmaster sated his temper, but not his troubled spirit. Theseus' thoughts spun in rings of doubt as he strode down the halls, angling for the hospital wing. To intervene was to endanger Newt. To do nothing was to ensure their distance in the future. He had in his possession the one existing time-turner that could stabilize years of change. How long could he put off this wretched dilemma?

Before Annie Woodman's heavy-heeled shoes clopped down the hall, her ponytail an orange ribbon whipping behind her, Theseus knew the moment was already at hand.

"Madam MacQuoid said to fetch you if something happened," the prefect gasped, bracing herself from the run. "I'm in training - I'm to watch the infirmary while she's gone. He just started thrashing and I don't know what to do!"

Theseus didn't press her for information. He ran.

The entire bunk was shaking when he skidded into the hospital wing. Long limbs tangled in the bedding, Newt dry-heaved over the side of the bunk, shuddering convulsively as he scrabbled to free his legs. Darting to the bunk, Theseus caught his brother just before he could tumble to the floor, bracing his head and rolling him back onto his side. Dilated hazel eyes rolled as Newt clawed at his hands.

"Newt! Newt, it's me! _Lumos!"_ Theseus shouted, compelling the lamp wick to light.

Crying out soundlessly, Newt tried once more to shove him away. When he moved to fling himself over the opposite side of the bed Theseus shimmied to perch onto the edge and pulled him back, biting down against an instinctive retort as a fist rapped his eye.

"Calm down, Newt! It's me! I'm right here!"

Whether words or the relief against darkness calmed his brother, he would never know. For a moment Theseus loosened his grip, remembering too late that an older Newt tended to squirm when someone held him too close, but for once the gesture did not seem unwelcome. Hooking his fingers in Theseus suit coat, Newt sobbed a breath and fell against him, trembling.

"I'm here," Theseus whispered, lowering his hand until he felt it safe to rub tentative circles between Newt's shoulder blades. "I'm right here."

"Theseus!" Newt choked, squeezing his eyes shut. He flung an arm over his face, hissing rapidly between his teeth. "It's burning. I can't make it stop!"

"Shh. Focus on my voice," Theseus soothed. Dimly he remembered those fretful, sleepless nights, holding Newt still after the fever-stricken child had banished his own parents from his bedroom. "Don't think about anything else."

"It won't stop!" Newt repeated heedlessly. "It's running through my head... over and over... so bright... just make it stop... let me sleep!"

"Keep your eyes shut," Theseus murmured. "You're in a dark room. There's nothing around you. Nothing but a lethifold draped across you, hiding you from head to toe. No light, no noise. Just silence."

"S'not working!" Newt whimpered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I can't stop seeing them! Everyone's running everywhere, and I'm... I'm trying to... but you're not there, you can't be... it's all wrong, so wrong!"

"Annie, run and fetch the matron," a deep voice murmured. "Theseus, step aside." The calm yet firm command beckoned him to act without question. As Theseus stood Dumbledore seamlessly slid into his place, pressing his thumbs lightly against Newt's temples.

"Rest, Newt. Save your troubles for tomorrow."

One from the most perilous department of the Ministry would recognize a legilimency spell without conscious thought. Theseus gripped the bedrail, half-minded to bark at Dumbledore to get out of his brother's head, when a flicker of calm glazed over Newt's eyes; a brief snatch of clarity before his eyelids slid shut and he slumped against the pillows.

Breathing out raggedly, as though the effort had cost him, Dumbledore straightened and moved aside for Theseus to take his place. "He's calmer," he reassured. "His mind is... very unstable. I've never seen anything quite like it. For now it's best to keep him quiet; give him time to differentiate between his previous memories and reality."

Numbly Theseus clasped Newt's limp, clammy fingers, watching his eyelids dart intermittently, as though despite all he still dreamed. "We need to leave."

He could sense Dumbledore regarding him from behind, weighing his resolve. "You should," the wizard finally agreed. "But not tonight. He's too unsettled. I don't know what time-travel would do to him at this point."

"I can't keep him here," Theseus protested, guilt wrenching him as he remembered every headache, every minor complaint that he had shrugged aside. Newt had implored him - begged him to leave the past alone, and he had been blind. So blind.

"Give him a few hours," Dumbledore counseled. "Let him rest, Theseus. Pull the mind too many ways in one night and you'll tear him apart."

"And if something else should happen while we linger?" Theseus challenged. "What then? Will he even wake the next time?"

He looked over his shoulder, anger smoldering at the sympathy in the professor's eyes. He didn't need his pity. He knew where to lay the blame.

"I think you understand what must be done," Dumbledore said softly.

Or perhaps better said, **_who_** must be avoided at all costs.

"We'll leave in the morning," Theseus declared. "Early; before the students rise. I won't wait any longer."

Something might yet be salvaged, he dared hope. He couldn't risk another encounter lest he lose Newt entirely. Hang the expulsion and the missing years and his failure at the tomb. Nothing could replace his brother.

"I'll send the house elves to fetch the case and your trunks," Dumbledore offered. "You won't need to leave the room."

Numbly Theseus nodded. He perched gingerly on the edge of the bunk, gripping his brother's too-warm hand. He would not close his eyes tonight; of this he was certain. If Newt somehow slipped away under his watch, there would be nothing worth waking to in the morning.

* * *

 **Short chapter, but I have an evil muse. X)**

 **Thank you to XYZArtemis and AndurilofTolkien for reviewing!**


	21. Chapter 21

_Verging on_ _Wednesday, March 16th, 1910_

* * *

A night in Hogwarts never passed in silence. Peeves never slept, for one, and even the portraits were often restless on a full moon. Lately Nearly-Headless Nick could be heard bemoaning his exorcism to come (despite the constant reassurances from the professors that he would not be exiled for popping out of the plum pudding while the inspector was on duty). Owls and bats fluttered. Ancient floorboards creaked, and pipes blocked up by poltergeists clanked in eternal protest. Students collaborated in huddles, or murmured in their sleep. Quills scratched and parchment rustled as the diligent caught up on their studies. Prefects occasionally paced the hall, snooping about whenever a broken curfew was suspected.

Even in the hospital wing, a ward designed for peace and rest, a troubled spirit passed the night with anxious strides and whispered reassurances. Banished from his brother's consciousness, Theseus tethered Newt to the future in the only way he knew. Through hushed stories and old family jests he reminder his brother of all they had left behind.

He spoke about the vault, and how irksome it was to see an impersonation of himself wearing such a drab coat. (If Newt insisted on polyjuice disguises, at least he could dress more tastefully. What if such an image had been flaunted in The Daily Prophet? And he had the gall to run off before Theseus could properly thrash him for being a public nuisance.) Then he griped about the recently acquired zouwu and the nasty reports that had been left on his desk when eyewitnesses traced the beast's last sighting to a certain magical case. He groused about the favorite child who could scuttle about as she pleased, and therefore whilst exploring unsupervised by her caretaker made off with the emerald necklace and earrings Theseus had stashed amidst his ties, hoping to present the gems to Leta on her birthday. He mocked Black and his disdainful portkey, and praised the blasted niffler who had led a child amok in the proper timing to shatter the odious crockery.

When Theseus ran out of witty anecdotes, he reminded Newt of the days before. Back when there used to be drawers full of interesting rocks and leftover Potions ingredients, scribbled colorings and pictures torn out of books. Once a certain notorious four-year-old salvaged enough hippogriff feathers to pin his arms from shoulder to wrist, and Mother walked in upon the frightful sight of a "bwoke-beaked gwiffin" lying next to the upturned sofa, squalling and thrashing while Theseus babbled explanations and used the best table linens to try to stop the flow of blood spurting from his brother's nose. There was the unforgettable incident when Newt laid hold of their host's shrieking macaw, and not only retained all of his fingers but convinced a bird nearly half his size to sit upon his head for the entire evening.

And when he had no more tender moments to draw upon, Theseus recounted days in elegant parlors and fantastic walkways in France, when he waited impatiently for a letter, not realizing his own carefully logged encounters had never reached his brother. (And what a dismal memory accompanied this, though faintly he acknowledged that it did not quite belong, for the letters stopped shortly after Newt's second year and he never understood why.)

He admitted how dull it could be in the Ministry, listening to the other wizards mince about the most recent Sighting, or whether it was prudent to waste parchment on a welcome note for the newest intern, when she probably wouldn't stay past the summer anyways. He even disclosed such diversions as staging paper mice in fighting rings and tripping up the Minister with a subtle, incomplete leg-lock jinx. (Although Newt was not in any way to follow his example, for he was clearly too chivalrous to comprehend the ingenuity of a well-deserved prank. Miss Salamander-Eyes, on the other hand - dubbed by the late Davey as "Sovereign of All Rolling Objects" - was welcome to pop in whenever she pleased.)

As the night carried on, and Theseus' dry remarks degenerated into melancholy, he revealed that which he never intended for Newt to know. Perhaps he feared that it must be spoken while the memories remained intact, or perhaps he hoped that that some of the sadder years would wash away with the integration of a new youth, and such a revelation would be needless after all. Either way he convinced himself that, lost this night in his own shattered mind, Newt couldn't possibly recall what was whispered in the dark, and thus Theseus broke his long standing vow. He had never demanded an explanation for what went wrong at Hogwarts, nor did he wish for Newt to comprehend the lengths he went to to ease the first year after his expulsion. He had merely pulled a few strings; called in some favors; found a little niche where a sixteen-year-old could be hired immediately so that Newt could busy himself instead of wallow in his failure. The Ministry was a prison for Newt - Theseus understood that now more than ever before - but it had given him a chance to prove himself and eventually move to higher departments. The Office of House-Elf Relocation was the most boring and lifeless department to initiate a career, but without that first step Newt might never have traveled to the Eastern Front. His textbook on magical creatures would have been a whimsical dream.

"I don't see the world like you do," Theseus whispered, watching as Newt's shoulders heaved once before he settled. "Merlin's beard, sometimes I don't know _where_ you get your insane ideas from. You're reckless, you're impetuous, you don't fear enough to keep yourself out of harm's way…."

Huffing softly, he admitted, "I've always wondered what it would be like to have your courage. You've overthrown every obstacle. Even… even me. The entire world could not stop you if it tried." He blinked rapidly, despair escaping him before he could dash it from his eyes. "I've always been proud of you. Every day, since Father first placed you in my arms. You irrational, brave fool."

Shuddering, he stooped and pressed a kiss to Newt's brow, lingering with their foreheads pressed together, as though by touch he could burn his memories into his brother's mind. "You can't leave me tonight, Newt. What would I be without you?"

There was no answer from the inert figure. When dawn colored the windows and the owls retreated to their roost, Theseus rose and paced to the window, stretching hours of tension from his limbs. He would put it off no longer. There was no sense in lingering for farewells. Newton would do well enough on his own for the rest of term, and one day he would understand why Theseus could not say goodbye.

Glancing at the trunks and leather case waiting by the bunk, Theseus allowed a wan smile to lift his despondency. Dumbledore had taken long enough to pack a few shirts and ties. There was no question that the professor had taken an idle stroll through Newt's case before sending it along with the house elves. Theseus hoped it had enlightened him to a boy's immeasurable potential. There was no better man to trust with Newton's future.

Had he not been standing so still, he might have missed the light scuff of a child's tread. Stilling, Theseus looked surreptitiously at the door. A shadow momentarily blocked the light from the hall, followed by the faint thud of an object settling on the floor. Immediately the footsteps retreated.

Striding to the doorway, Theseus hovered for a moment, waiting for the echoes to fade. Carefully he eased the door open wide enough to retrieve the anonymous parcel. A gift for Newt, perhaps? An acknowledgment of farewell from one of the students whose bangles and shiny trinkets had been retrieved from the niffler hoard? _Probably a comprehensive guide to pest extermination, courtesy of the headmaster,_ Theseus thought darkly. The book folded easily as he picked it up, the leather binding barely holding together.

Of course.

" _Blood Bonds and Boundaries_ ," Theseus murmured, carefully restacking the ruined pages. It could only be Leta. Was it an offering of sympathy, or a testament to an altered mindset? He told himself that it was the latter. Perhaps she no longer needed the bindings of a blood oath to trust that someone could be her friend.

Rejuvenated by the symbol of hope, Theseus contemplated taking one last stroll after all. The morning was early yet. Aside from the wary mischief-maker who sought to return the evidence undetected, no students should be wandering the castle. He would be no more acknowledged than a ghost passing through the halls.

After a week devoted to delving through old texts, he relished the nostalgia of taking one more quiet moment to indulge in the library.

* * *

Without a fellow mischief-maker to encourage him, Peeves had left the stuffy library alone. Recently the shelves had been dusted, categorized and alphabetized properly, fit to satisfy the most obnoxious inspector. Theseus wistfully considered a change in occupation. Perhaps one day, if they could overthrow Grindelwald before the Ministry fell, he might dabble in a less hazardous department. Leta would have found that amusing.

 _I'm not old enough to retire yet,_ Theseus reminded himself as he slid _Blood Bonds and Boundaries_ into its place in the restricted section. _There may be another war ahead, and where else shall I be save the front lines?_

Another war. Another chance to play _hero._ Only those who had survived the heat of battle understood how much he loathed that title. Heroes were those who had collapsed in the front lines, crippled under the first onslaught of spells. Heroes lay among the slain. Theseus was no more valorous than any one of them for escaping a similar fate.

And it was to this future that he must return.

Breathing deeply, imprinting on his memories the essence of leather and parchment and isolation, Theseus turned away deliberately, disillusion weighing his shoulders the moment he stepped outside of the library. He had no place in this era of peace. Perhaps someday his children, if he ever found a woman who could match a beguiling, emerald enchantress, would romp around these halls without fear. As for himself, he had outlived such opportunities.

It was time to go home.

No sooner had he rounded the corner than he heard the anxious wheedle which fettered his stride and stole away his breath. _Oh, Newton. Now is not the time. Go back to your room and leave me be!_

But the stalwart petition was not directed towards him. Pressing himself against the wall, Theseus glanced around the corner, incapable of quenching the pity that gripped his heart. Still clad in his pajamas, his hair mussed from tumbling out of bed, Newton avidly pointed at the library, his expression flushing as he babbled, "I was just returning it. I didn't ruin it, I swear."

"Then who was it?" the Hufflepuff head boy asked, looking as though he wanted to drum his head against the wall rather than settle one more dispute between prepubescent students. Gripped in his hands, half falling to pieces, was a coverless copy of _The Tales of Beetle the Bard_.

"I don't … I don't know," Newton said, failing to make eye contact. "I found it."

"Newt, if someone has damaged a book you should report it," the head boy censored. "Now why were you sneaking it back to the library?"

"I wasn't sneaking!" Newton objected, the tips of his ears coloring to match his scarlet face. "I was putting it back for… Before anyone… noticed it was missing," he ended badly.

"So you admit it was your fault," the head boy stated.

"No, I didn't tear it!" Newton protested. "It probably fell. I found it in the hall."

Rolling his eyes, the head boy said tartly, "Did you or did you not have this book in your possession?"

"Yes - I mean, no! I mean, not for long. It was just earlier this year, and then I lent it - I mean - I was going to…."

"So the fact that it was borrowed under your name - that was in _October,_ Newt, look at the date! And then you suddenly felt compelled to return it without any report of damage when most of the castle is still in bed... Merlin, Newt! How many fibs can you tell in one morning?" Sighing, the head boy shuffled the torn pages together and tucked the book under his arm. "I'm going to have to speak to the headmaster about this."

"No, wait!" Newton yelped, lunging for the book. "I'll replace it! I've got enough knuts, I think. And I can borrow some from Theseus before he goes."

Stiffening, Theseus forced himself to look away, clenching his fists until the blood left his fingers. It would be so easy to round the corner and slip a galleon into the head boy's pocket. Book paid for, bribe asserted, and Newton wouldn't suffer the consequences of what was clearly Leta's mischance. Such a small favor. Surely it wouldn't….

But if it _did_.

"It's not the money that matters, Newt," the head boy droned. "You damaged the book and you tried to hide it. You know how the headmaster feels about sneakiness."

"But I didn't do it!" Newton insisted.

"Then tell me who did!"

"I.… I don't know!"

 _How many schemes have you covered for,_ Theseus wondered, despair cloying the peace he had felt that morning. He thought back to the afternoon in the case, when Leta contrived ingenious pranks while Newt picked at the grass, interested only in the presence of his brother and his best friend. Leta had graduated with success. Newt had fallen to the wayside.

Which of the two had been judged fairly?

 _Neither,_ Theseus acknowledged heavily. He could not intercede this time, however. This was the moment when he could no longer save Newt. Closing his mind to the troubled pleas, he braced his resolve and strode in the opposite direction. He now understood why the letters would stop after Newt's second year. Any nincompoop could look towards the library and see him walking away. Unmoved by his own brother's unhappiness.

"Wait - Wait, Theseus! See, there he is; I'll get him! Theseus, I just need a sickle. I'll pay it back, I promise!"

Ducking his head, his eyes squeezed shut against the knowledge that he was spurring the distance between them, Theseus sidled behind a portrait and hunkered down in the hidden passage, covering his face with his hands until the running footsteps slowed and the head boy's voice echoed dimly in the hall.

"He's gone, Newt. Come on; you can't cover up everything just because your brother's the inspector."

"But he was right here! He wouldn't… he wouldn't leave me…."

Gasping, Theseus covered his ears, blocking out the tremulous young voice that verged on tears. _I can't. I can't! Oh Merlin, if only I could….!_

If he could but spring out of hiding now and stride forth like the hero his brother expected, rescuing him from another dreadful week in detention. He could ease this last moment between them: hold to his promise that he would always, _always_ be there when Newt needed him.

Yet here he crouched in the shadows like a coward, leaving Newton alone with the illusion that even his brother was disappointed with his conduct. In that moment Theseus knew that all would continue as it had before. Newt would leave him behind at the train station. In the span of seventeen years he would lose his brother.

If one day that permitted a magizoologist to travel to New York, befriend a muggle, chase after an obscurus, and travel back in time to hunt for a menial spell, Theseus would accept the burden. He would suffer the years alone until Newt returned to his original memories. He would count every day until all was revealed in a quarrel inside a magical case. And he would wait at Newt's side every moment until he woke, prepared to greet whatever ghost of the past remained. Whether stranger or old friend, he would cherish the one who would always be his little brother.

Slipping out of the passage, Theseus trudged to the hospital wing, looping the time-turner over his head.

He would never exonerate himself for betraying Newt.

He could only hope that one day he would earn his brother's forgiveness.


	22. Chapter 22

**Alas, my new work schedule has started and writing is low on the priority list. Fortunately for you lot, that means you get the conclusion early! Have the rest of the story!**

 **Thank you to CrazyFM, Astro, XYZArtemis, AndruilofTolkien, and MollyzEpic for reviewing last chapter!**

* * *

 _Finally it's Wednesday, March 16, 1910_

* * *

"You may as well do it here. Better for him to wake in a hospital than under a bridge somewhere."

Theseus only nodded in response, too distracted to ponder the irony in Dumbledore's advice. The trunks had been stowed in Newt's case (a trivial solution he should have thought of during their first journey), and the handle of said case was looped snugly over Newt's right hand. Scooting onto the bed beside the mumbling young wizard, Theseus adjusted the time-turner chain and tugged it over his brother's head.

"Mind that the reversal may not track to an exact date," Dumbledore cautioned. "You may reappear days or even weeks past your initial departure. Contact me as soon as you can. I'll keep a comprehensive record of events from this point so you can identify any alterations."

"If you replace Black as headmaster, I'll be the first inspector to mock your office," Theseus snarked.

Dumbledore huffed. "Headmaster in twenty years - now there's an ambitious notion."

 _Or you'll be watched for possible treason,_ Theseus mused darkly. One could not possibly rewrite all of time in a week of petty diversions. They would be fortunate enough if the pages acquired helped to nullify Dumbledore's oath. Any alterations could result in a blessing or a blight on their cause, and he dreaded that forthcoming report. It would be his own folly if a trace of the past was lost forever.

 _So be it upon my own head,_ Theseus thought grimly. Twining an arm around his brother, keeping him and the irreplaceable case firmly in place, he thumbed thirty-four careful twirls. A pause for confirmation, and the device began spinning on its own, flashing with golden light as Dumbledore turned to face to Madam MacQuoid, gesturing in high speeds before zipping out of the hospital wing. Madam MacQuoid and her apprentice fussed over bandage counts and bottles before unpacking their baskets of supplies and hustling to settle a new patient. The sun ascended in the east window and swung into the western side of the wing, and Theseus caught a glimpse of Professor Black prowling about the room with bandaged fingers before the images fled into days too rapid to count. Days and weeks and months spun around him in a blur of color and sunrises. Children morphed into graduates instantly and new students took their place. Only when the images slowed did Theseus realize he had been watching for Newt amongst the seventh-years.

Of course, this was only the hospital wing. Its occupants indicated little of Hogwarts' future legacy. There was no point in predicting Newt's success based on a few battered Quidditch players and jinxed fifth-years.

Indeed, the greatest shock seemed to be from the matron herself, who promptly spun about, her greying hair whipping behind her in a tight braid, and dropped the bottle of skele-grow she'd been pressing on a first-year who looked as though he had chanced upon the whomping willow. Muffling a startled shriek, the nurse looked between the suddenly apparent wizards and the closed door. "Lands' sakes - but where did you come from?"

"What day is this?" Theseus said briskly, whipping off the time-turner and tucking it into his suit pocket. "Quickly! What is the date?"

"Now don't be shouting at me so, not with a patient lying surely beside you," MacQuoid scolded. She prodded the first-year to settle himself on a bunk and bustled to inspect Newt. "Mercy, I could've sworn he was just having tea with the professor. What happened to him? Was it that nasty vermin? Fleas and ticks, I told Professor Dumbledore, but I still find those thieving rodents scurrying about his classroom on occasion."

"I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore _immediately,_ " Theseus stressed. "It's a matter of grave importance."

"Oh, I know all about it," MacQuoid said, rolling her eyes. "Ministry's got to have its say, whether it's unsuitable infection control measures or cross-contamination in the kitchens. And for all your posh and bother you couldn't keep your own cousin in the healing ward until he was speaking full sentences."

"I didn't..." Good heavens, had she _no idea?_ Seventeen years past and everyone still assumed that "Artemis" was a passing relative! "He doesn't look that different," Theseus mumbled dourly.

"You Scamanders all look the same," MacQuoid scoffed. "People say differently, what with that dark thatch of yours and your brother's moody eyes, but you just remember I've seen to your bloody noses since you walked straight into a pillar your first day in the Great Hall. Stop grousing about now and get off that bunk! He doesn't need a mother hovering over him while I'm working."

Too stunned to protest, Theseus reluctantly slid away from the bunk and allowed the portly nurse to fuss over Newt's breathing and the uneven dilation of his eyes. "What've you let him fall into now?" MacQuoid censured. "I told your mother you'd be far-fetched to survive on your own outside of school, and now look at the two of you; plastering yourselves across the Daily Prophet for stalling Grindelwald with a bit of flashy spellwork. Young men never pay heed to common sense."

"Will he be alright?" Theseus probed, fear tightening in his chest when Newt turned subtly, stirring as though to avoid the light, and fell inert without a sound.

"I could say more if you told me the cause of his ailment," MacQuoid snapped. "You may think you're above my station as Head Auror, but you're still an evasive little scamp and you can't fool Madeline MacQuoid. What mischief have you gotten yourselves into this time?"

"I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore," Theseus answered sternly. "Alone."

Flicking the light from her wand with the same curling expression as though a beetle had crawled across its tip, Madam MacQuoid stowed it in her robes and folded her arms, dark eyes baiting and immovable. Theseus returned her stare stoically. She was only a nurse: she could not subject any patient or family member to an inquisition without the written approval of the headmaster. Impertinent and blustery as she might be, MacQuoid was not so indiscretionate as to pry such information from him.

"All right, Scamander," MacQuoid relented tartly. "Seeing as it's none of my business what foolhardy wizards do once they're of age. Rogers, pop off to find the professor once that healing draught's had a chance to take effect. You've broken nothing more than your pride, and I won't have any students lollygallying about in my hospital just so they can avoid class."

Wrinkling his nose at being cast back into school so easily, the first-year mumbled a grudging, "Yes'm." For an instant it was hazel eyes replacing dark brown, and tawny curls overlapping the nearly ginger locks. Theseus blinked slowly, allowing the memory to fade.

Sooner or later, Newton had to grow up. He could ask for no more than the liberty to treasure those precious last days of childhood.

He waited for Rodgers to be dismissed, quietly absorbing each bittersweet memory of a lost spring, absently rubbing the warmth back into Newt's hand. When MacQuoid stepped out of the room, to be replaced by a visibly startled professor, Theseus scarcely knew what to say.

"Theseus," Dumbledore greeted, approaching the bunk in three brisk strides. "What happened? I saw you both off not an hour ago. No one traced your return."

"What day is it?" Theseus intercepted, exhaustion robbing his voice of emotion. "The date, Professor."

Perplexity was tainted with a shroud of intuition. "The fourteenth of September," Dumbledore said coolly. "Nineteen Twenty-Seven."

"September?" Theseus squawked. _Days or weeks **late** we could manage, but so early! I shouldn't even know about Newt's mission yet!_

Quietly Dumbledore crossed the room, easing the door shut behind him. "This is when it starts, isn't it?" he inquired softly. "I've been tracking you both for years, but you shouldn't be here now. It's only a theory yet - I haven't even mentioned it to Newt."

"Time-turner malfunction," Theseus croaked. "Newt knew how to plot it accurately: I was forced to intervene."

"He's still in the same state as when I saw him last," Dumbledore noted with unease. He paced across the wing, idly stringing a hand through his hair. "But you're far too early. I haven't sent you yet. If either one of you interferes with your timeline now it could jeopardize everything you've attained."

"You mean your spell," Theseus said thinly, pulling the folded pages from his inner coat pocket. "Here. Take it. You could scarcely lose now, regardless of what besmirches our past."

Staring askance at the fragile parchment, Dumbledore posed softly, "Have I ever placed the worth of a spell before my students? Encountering yourself in this close of a time-proximity could destroy you, Theseus. I could never allow you to jeopardize yourself - or your brother - in such a foolhardy manner."

"Then what difference did it make sending us to the past?" Theseus snarled. "My brother may no longer be the man I know, and he was the one willing to sacrifice everything for these - these wretched parchments!" Agitatedly he cast the pages to the floor, seeking morbid satisfaction in their drifting tumble, and finding none.

"That's why I sent you with him," Dumbledore said, bewilderment bleeding into his tone. "I knew it was perilous for the both of you. I didn't want to send him alone; he cares too much. You understood the risks of time-travel - I assumed you would guard the both of you from any notable interactions."

Theseus laughed: a harsh bray of mockery and sorrow gripping him until he clamped a hand across his mouth, grinding his teeth into his lip lest guilt overwhelm him. "Of all the…. You shouldn't have sent me," he admitted, letting his hands fall limp between his knees. "I jeopardized everything. I … I changed his past."

Slowly Dumbledore drew up a chair across the room. Neither resentment or sympathy lingered in his eyes as he said, "Would not any of us choose the same path? If I could but understand what made Gellert what he is now.… Is it truly a risk, one is compelled to wonder?"

"Why did you let me?" Theseus implored, raising a shaking hand to his head. "If you knew I would be vulnerable, why didn't you warn me of what could happen?"

Remorse sheared through Dumbledore's empathy, and Theseus sensed a shared guilt in the older man's eyes. "Perhaps I too hoped that things could be altered for the better," the professor admitted. "Newt was a good student…. He deserved another chance."

Bitterly Theseus smiled, shaking his head. "So it was just another experiment with one of your pets. You never considered what _I_ would lose without him. Newt… it's always been Newt. Every risk, every play against Grindelwald. You _had_ to choose him."

"You knew so little of Newt's past," Dumbledore insisted. "Tell me, do you understand him more now than before you journeyed together? Does he know what sacrifices you made for him? I can see it every day: the distance tearing you both apart. How many years would it continue, before either of you declared you no longer knew your brother?"

No. He would not be enticed with words of empathy and concession. Rising from his chair, Theseus strode to the window, allowing the burning sun against his eyelids to sooth the haze from his mind. "I think you should go," he said numbly. "You have a mission to prepare for Newt. I daren't meddle with his past any more than I have already. Take the bloody parchments with you."

"Theseus…."

 _It's not your fault. You didn't harm him through any volition of your own,_ Theseus read in those coaxing syllables. He wouldn't believe a word of it. He had known the risks. He had willingly imperiled his brother.

At length Dumbledore sighed. "There's an isolation ward branching off the hospital wing," he suggested, tucking the pages from _Blood Bonds and Boundaries_ into his suit lapel. "Keep the room dark and quiet; give him time to find himself again."

"How long will that take?" Theseus asked, swallowing thickly as the pain in his throat jolted his words.

"Perhaps hours; maybe weeks," Dumbledore said gently. "He won't be disturbed. I'll instruct the students and the professors to leave you both alone. Anything you need can be brought directly to the hospital wing."

It was a paltry compromise offered in the face of wrong. Theseus was loathe to accept it, but he could not deny the sensibility in Dumbledore's proposal. Rest was what Newt clearly needed. What they _both_ craved. Time and silence to reassemble the devastating implications of their journey. To mourn what had already been lost.

And to contemplate the darkness which lay ahead.

' _I try not to worry,_ ' Theseus remembered his brother telling him haphazardly during one of their early disagreements. ' _It won't change anything in the end.'_

Such had always been his brother's most criticized flaw. He never feared the consequences; never gave a thought as to what might happen if something went wrong. Theseus was always one step behind him, braced to catch him should he fall.

Only now he was the one falling, and Newt was too far behind to reassure him that all would end happily for them both. In one fell season he had lost his friends, his fiance, and now perhaps his brother. Was there anything more that could slay him before the world crumbled under his feet?

Clenching one hand into a tight fist, Theseus ground his knuckles into his forehead and allowed the pain to steady him. While Newt still drew breath he must have hope. He must believe that his brother was still there somewhere; lost; searching; begging to be found. Somewhere in that muddled head, a little brother cried out for someone to save him from his own mind.

Theseus would never let go of him again.


	23. Chapter 23

Though the darkened wing of the isolation ward was not disturbed, Newt would not be still. Within an hour of their return he began thrashing, prying at Theseus' restraining hands and kicking when he could no longer move his arms. His eyes roved blindly, a stream of uncoordinated words hissing into the darkness, and he seemed not to hear the frantic reassurances of the one who held him. Though Theseus was ill prepared for another encounter with the man, he hollered for the nurse to find Dumbledore.

"It's all right! You're safe!" he said uselessly, grunting as Newt expertly twisted in half to knick his chin with one socked foot. "Blast it Newt, what on earth is going through that head of yours?"

"Can't let him hurt her s'not right she's just a…. Was an accident wasn't ever supposed to unlock… Tina what've you…. Can't see anything so dark tried to save her I'm sorry she's _gone_ she couldn't bear her magic any longer…. No, she's - Queenie come back you don't understand he's not what you…. No, no it's wrong, why is it wrong I don't understand...!"

Dumbledore's stride was graciously silent, and there was neither justification nor accusation in his bearing as he crouched and pressed his hands to Newt's temples. "Newt, look at me," he whispered, a wafting breeze that slipped under the wrathful throes of the young wizard's thoughts. "Let it go. It'll find its own place. Don't fight it."

Theseus expected the same glaze of tranquility to cloud his brother's disconcertion, easing him under the whirlwind of colliding memories, but Newt fought against the mental nudge. He twitched and spasmed, muttering to himself, looking fretfully about the room and comprehending nothing. His struggles grew less violent, no longer balking against the slightest touch, but he would not attune to Dumbledore's coaxing, and he would not sleep.

Not until the clock tower resounded with four bells did Theseus realize Dumbledore had stayed with them for hours, leaving his own classroom to fend for itself as he strove to reach one wayward, former student. Though Theseus could not forgive the professor's negligence in sending them to the past, he withdrew his anger, for he could not argue that Dumbledore cared little for those who trusted him. Everything the wizard asked from his followers, he repaid with every breath and pulse of his life force. He was not one to misconstrue loyalty.

How extraordinarily opposite he was to Grindelwald.

When at last Newt exhausted himself, collapsing under the persistent echo to _sleep, rest, leave it until the morning,_ both wizards released him and slumped back into their chairs. It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening.

Carding a hand through his unkempt and ratted hair, Theseus asked dully, "Will you tell me what happened? Since we left in October?"

Weariness curled Dumbledore's shoulders. He could have dismissed Theseus' request for the morning, begging a few hours to rejuvenate himself, but his voice was immeasurably patient as he recounted, "Technically you have yet to hear about the mission. As for the years since Newt's second year, I have no knowledge of what transpired before your journey. I've kept notes as to your progress in the Ministry and Newt's travels after school."

"Did he graduate, then?" Theseus probed. "Did he ever write a book?"

" _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ " Dumbledore confirmed. "You and Leta both attended the signing. It caused some consternation between him and Miss Goldstein, I've heard. But no… I'm sorry, Theseus. There was an incident during his sixth year, which is not my prerogative to share. I don't believe he was to blame, but I couldn't convince the headmaster not to expel him."

So he was right. Though he had enlivened Newton's second year and scrambled his brother's memories, a few days of encouragement could not alter the wider future. "What about Grindelwald?" Theseus asked. "The last memory I have of him, he escaped us in Paris. Where is he now?"

"Not in Paris," Dumbledore said grimly. "Perhaps it's better for me to start with the beginning. I'd like to hear for myself if any circumstances have changed since your journey."

The hour was late, but sleep could not tempt Theseus now. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he prompted, "Start with the last term during Newt's second year…."

* * *

Early sleet mingled with the rain, pelting the windows as Theseus stared over Hogwarts' grounds. The dismal atmosphere suited his mood, reminding him of an ill-fated Quidditch match during Newt's second year. It all seemed like a sort of dream: fantasy blurring with reality.

 _I was in Paris,_ he thought, the memory of blazing lights reflecting off the Seine so clear. _Why couldn't I remember it before now?_

If such little things had affected his own past, small wonder that Newt had gone mad as his childhood convoluted itself before his eyes. _Dumbledore was wrong,_ Theseus thought adamantly, not for the first time. _He was so vulnerable at that age. I never should have intervened._

He wondered what Newt would say first when he woke. He wondered if he would remember the creatures, so dedicatedly tended now by the aged Professor Beery himself. He wondered if Newt would remember a torn, coverless book.

Such trivial problems seemed the worst of history's maladies, if Dumbledore's account was anything to judge. Despite Theseus' concerns, their short stint at Hogwarts had impacted little in the wizarding world. Oh, there were some minor inconsistencies. Due to his staff's lack of confidence, ' _The Headmaster of the Pot'_ had stepped down three years early, to be replaced by Armando Dippet. The ghost of a dismembered cornish pixie still squalled in the Greenhouse Three every quarter moon. Nearly Headless Nick made an annual retreat every spring, vanishing for two or three weeks until 'potential inspections were past.' Apparently Theseus' stint in France had earned him a few allies, and some of the damage to Paris had been tempered by their interference. Lives were saved and structures had been rebuilt in half the time. That was good.

It wasn't enough.

Porpentina's sister was still lost to them. The Obscurus had crossed the border of flames. Grindelwald had apparated away before he could be captured.

Dumbledore never mentioned Leta.

Closing his eyes, Theseus tried to envision the Ministry Christmas party when he had first noticed Leta in the crowd. She had been wearing dark green, he remembered: one of those inconsistent shades that women always bestowed with dramatic titles. He could remember it so clearly, yet the fashion tabloids said that her stunning outfit had inspired the new women's line in "Cornish Pixie Blue." Why wouldn't he remember such an obnoxious color?

It seemed only yesterday that she had slipped through his hands.

"Sulking again? You told me that brooding was your brother's predisposition. Mister I-Can-Sort-This-Myself."

Gasping, Theseus snapped his eyes open, grounding himself with the sound of rain. That wiley taunt; that tripsy clack of dainty heels. _September fifteenth, Nineteen Twenty-Seven. She's been dead for three days._

"Dumbledore warned me that you were out of sorts with Newt in hospital. I didn't think it was that serious….."

The soft, brown hand on his shoulder was a phantom of memory: a ghost. She could not possibly have… They hadn't altered enough….

Bolting to his feet, Theseus snatched up Leta's hands and stared into unforgettable, sad eyes. She was wearing the dress he liked - the one that had some extravagant name classifying the color and to him had always been "that green one." A jarvey fur shawl was looped about her shoulders. Choking, daring to capture the dream, he bound her in his arms, breathing deeply of the exotic perfume she favored. "How?"

Perplexed, Leta mustered an awkward laugh and allowed him to hold her. "You really did lose your mind to worry. Dumbledore should have notified me sooner."

"You're…." _Here. Alive. Mine._ "What about Paris?" Theseus whispered. "The tomb." She had died. There was no remapping her sacrifice, or else he and Newt would never have survived. "How can you be here?"

This time Leta did laugh. That audacious, soft tremble of sound that coaxed him from his darkest moods. "Look at you. Head Auror, Hero of Britain, fluttering like a schoolboy missing his mother. Dumbledore assured me it wasn't _that_ serious." Sliding back, she tilted her head concernedly at Newt's inactivity before latching eyes with Theseus. "Tell me he wasn't lying."

When he failed to answer, compassion melted her brown eyes. "Oh, Theseus."

She tucked him against her shoulder, her strength bearing his sorrow, and he gripped her with the fervor of a man who had tasted abandonment before love was poured into his staunch heart. Her smell, her touch, her voice was all the same. Seventeen years to change her mind and she had remained loyal.

"Tell me what happened at the tomb," he pleaded. "Tell me as if I wasn't there."

"You silly old thing," Leta murmured. "You aurors - you're as nitwitted and biased as Grindelwald. You can't believe that a magizoologist, an auror, and a lady can hold off the darkest wizard of all time."

"You fought with us," Theseus said, as though he had believed it all along. "You didn't cross the circle of flame."

Leta snorted derisively. "Now you sound like a Minister. What does Grindelwald have to offer me?"

Merlin, he'd - he'd done it. He'd lured her from the darkness, stolen her trust, proved that there was love waiting if she could only look past her own tragedy. "The three of us…" Theseus established.

"Well, Nicholas Flamel helped," Leta admitted distastefully. "Some of the aurors also escaped the first burning. Even so we would have done well on our own. We are a formidable force," she murmured lithely, puffing a breath against Theseus' ear.

He was marrying this woman tomorrow, hang all laws of propriety and customs.

Snickering wickedly, Leta pulled away before he could ensare her. That mad woman would always compel him to chase her down. "I'll stay here tonight," she assured, her deviousness softening into worry as she studied his face. "You've worn yourself thinner than a tebo hide."

Loath to lose sight of her for even a moment, Theseus felt about until he found the chair and sat back, poised between his fiance and his brother. If a man had proposed he turn back time to save the woman he loved, he might have dared it. He might have shouldered the consequences to the world just to hold her one more time.

He always believed dreams were the figments of a poorly supervised mind. Fate didn't cater to one man's wishes. Once lost, a moment could never be rebirthed. Yet now...

Gripping his brother's hand, Theseus dared to believe he would have one last miracle. He had seen the impossible saunter into this very room. Surely recovery could not be far behind.


	24. Chapter 24

_Nightmares smothered him like a boggart filling his head, but he never slept. Always pressed against his eyelids were brilliant images, the details sharpened and warped until he wanted to scream every time he saw Tina smile. Most of the time he was running - never sure what from, maybe an auror, or maybe another unnamed muggle just looking at him from across the road. Sometimes he pressed his hands over his eyes and begged them to leave him alone, but in the next moment he was back on his feet, fighting the hands that pulled him towards the execution chair, trying to compress ash and magic back into the shape of a little girl, begging Credence not to take another step._

 _Then hands would press around his head and he would see things that weren't dreams at all. Pouncing about in the corridors, ruining his good robes, trying to catch that impossible flurry of black and white fur. (No, that wasn't right. There never were nifflers in Hogwarts.) Hopping off the train after another dreadful year, relieved to see Theseus leaning against a pillar, proofreading yet another boring Ministry article (only Theseus didn't come that summer, because he was in France). Begging the shopkeeper at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment if he could make a trunk that was bigger on the inside, please, and maybe equip it with spells so that pets could be cared for inside of it? (Only he didn't have such a case until he was in his twenties, not that it made any difference - the shopkeeper had laughed at him anyways.) Fighting Grindelwald in the subway, and then in France, only something was wrong and his wand didn't behave like it ought, and even the creatures balked if he didn't hide it away (but they depended on him - they knew he would never hurt them)._

 _He remembered sadness after the battle, without understanding why, because no one had died except for a few of Theseus' aurors and some of the French reinforcements, yet someone had been lost forever. He wanted Theseus to hold him in that moment of grief, yet the embrace burned his skin like fire, because the sorrow had no name and his head ached so, and he wanted to apologize for everything - for the train, for burning the letters, for never asking if they could start over and pretend they'd never quarreled - but it was too late and he'd lost seventeen years, and it was_ _ **burning, burning, all burning, he couldn't make it right in his head anymore…..**_

When he opened his eyes, it was to the immediate relief that sometime during the night he had stopped dreaming. How one could tell that a sleep had been dreamless, he wasn't sure. There was simply a subconscious acknowledgment on those odd mornings that the night had passed in rest and slumber. Blackness like a Lethifold cloaked his vision when he blinked. That was good, wasn't it? He tried it again, just to be sure. Shadows. Dark. Shadows. Dark.

The images were gone.

Sighing softly, Newt shut his eyes again. A dull pain rounded out in the back of his head, but he could ignore that. He'd felt worse after he let the Nundu get too close that one time. The nasty whammer had lasted for weeks after. (Another incident for the list of problematic things which Theseus must never know about.)

 _What did I do this time?_ Newt wondered. Breathing deeply, he imagined the busy thoughts falling silent one by one, like alarms clicking off in his head, until he could remember. They were in Paris. No, that was before. This was Hogwarts. It was Hogwarts, wasn't it? Dumbledore had invited him in for tea.

But something more must have happened after that. This was the hospital wing, after all - he recognized the smell of witch hazel and skele-grow. He'd been left in the isolation ward during his second-year after a bludger smashed into his head. ( _But it didn't this time, because Theseus was there…..)_

Lifting his head, Newt scratched the old mark ( _there was a scar, there_ _ **should be**_ _a scar_ ) and tried to reconcile the two. No, he really had mixed everything up. Elsie's bludger had barely knicked him, after all. A brief glance over from Madam MacQuoid and he'd been sent off to his studies. The bludger to his head - now that was the dream he'd suffered before losing consciousness in the Room of Requirement when he'd been searching….

Oh.

Now he remembered.

"Theseus," Newt grumbled, pulling a pillow over his head. No wonder he was confusing everything. Theseus was supposed to be _helping_ him look for that spell and he'd run off to watch Quidditch with twitty little Newton. (Not that he should complain, it was himself that Theseus was spending time with, but the fact remained that big brother was most unhelpful whenever Newt needed him most.) He must have fallen off the shelf and banged his head. One more concussion had finally scrambled his brains, just like Culpepper had warned him. "Lucky I don't forget mooncalf mating season…."

Eyes flying wide, he bolted upright, his breath leaving him in a wrenching gasp. _Mating season! How long since I've been down there? Merlin, I slept too long!_

He hardly noticed the windmilling scramble of long limbs as someone fell out of a nearby chair. "Newt! Newt, wait!"

"It's the mooncalf, I can't leave her alone down there," Newt said hurriedly, fumbling about for the nearest light. Bother it all, he couldn't even remember Theseus bringing him here, and he didn't have time to explain away one more headache.

"Newt, Newt, what are you... Wait! Newt, stop! It's just a dream. You're safe!"

Hands more accustomed to handling ink and parchment rather than trimming hippogriff talons tried to guide him back to the bed. Irritably Newt shoved his brother away. "I'm fine, Theseus. I'm not in any pain right now. Look, I've got to see to her, she's two… three days into her heat and she'll start picking on the other females if she doesn't get her medicine."

" _Newt_ , please! It's fine, you're fine, you don't have to….." Abruptly Theseus fell silent, an odd, hysterical laugh escaping him as he dragged Newt to the wall by his elbow and flicked on the light. Too stunned to struggle, Newt drew back as Theseus grasped his arms and laughed again. "It's you! You _are_ worrying about that blasted case, aren't you?" A maniacal grin seized his face and he yanked Newt into a hug. "I thought I'd never hear about it again. Don't ever change, Brother. Don't you _ever_ grow up."

Grunting feebly, Newt eased himself out of the crushing hold, warily stepping two strides out of his brother's reach. "How long?" he asked queasily.

The smile fell away. "Four days," Theseus said gruffly. Though his expression betrayed little, his eyes reflected long nights of terror. "Do you remember any of it?"

"We… were arguing," Newt recalled, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to picture the exact moments that led to the isolation ward. "We talked about…." _Merlin, don't make me repeat it,_ he silently begged. Before he could stop himself the words poured out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry, I must've underslept sometimes it happens, I don't even remember what we were arguing about but I know it wasn't all that important and I didn't mean to burn the letters, I'm sorry, I just wasn't thinking properly I didn't realize that….."

He didn't have a chance to explain himself properly, for in an instant he was swept in again, long arms bracing his weary body, one hand cupped behind his aching head.

"I don't care," Theseus whispered, as heedless and desperate as Newt's wrenched heart. "I don't _care_ what happened. Just _stop it_ , Newt. No more apologies. You cannot blame yourself for a lifetime of misconstruities, and if you want to plague yourself with guilt you'll just have to get in line. I've never thought any less of you for _anything_ that happened."

Breathing sharply against the emotion he didn't want prickling at the back of his eyes, Newt said feebly, "Yes, but when I - "

"Newt, shut up," Theseus growled. "I never want to hear about it again."

Oh. So that was the way it would have to be, Newt realized with a sigh. Forgiveness was meted out without a return receipt, whether he felt he deserved it or not. Sometimes he wondered if Theseus believed he could set everything to rights if he just held onto him long enough.

"About the book, though," he said quickly, ignoring his brother's pent sigh. "The one in second year that I wanted the sickle for. I just wanted to say…."

Immediately his brother went still, bracing himself for whatever came next. So he was right in his suspicions after all. Swallowing, Newt said softly, "I think I understand now. I forgive you."

He wasn't surprised to feel the shock leech through his brother's suddenly tense embrace. And if the back of his neck felt suspiciously wet, he didn't say a word.

Theseus was just like that.

* * *

Before he made his appointment that morning, he detoured to Diagon Alley, a conspicuous blue sidewinder weaving through the mass of wizarding families who were hunting for last-minute school supplies. Gervaise Ollivander was out to tea, but his son Garrick was already well spoken of in his apprenticeship. First-hand accounts claimed how he seemed to understand the mischances of wands and the magic of the soul that bound them to their owners. Tentatively he waited until the last child trotted out of the shop before approaching and laying his wand on the desk.

"Newt Scamander," Garrick said, smiling in remembrance. "I was only a polisher in the family shop when you came through here. Still, I never forget a wand." Weighing the wand ponderously, he examined it from tip to shaft. "Limewood and ash, mother of pearl, belemnite handle, and a unicorn hair for the core. It should be fairly springy."

"But it's not," Newt said briskly. "It's rigid. It… it fights me. I don't understand why. My creatures are frightened of it."

Raising the tip to his ear, Garrick listened closely, his eyelids half-shuttered in thought. "This wand has challenged its own character," he surmised. "It has … shall we say for lack of a better comparison… dueled itself. One could say it's been battling its own nature since… when did you first notice a difference?"

"Second year," Newt admitted. "I thought it was misbehaving because I had... changed."

"It served you well against Grindelwald, so I hear," Garrick commented. "This is a warrior's wand; a weapon of blood. It will bring you to great heights."

"No. No, I don't want that," Newt interjected. "Something about it unnerves the creatures - I can't go near them if I'm holding it. I don't want them to be afraid of me, and I'm terribly limited if I can't heal them with magic. Can't you fix it, or remove the curse?"

"A curse is a weighted word for what some wizards would call a blessing," Garrick said, raising one ponderous eyebrow. "But if it troubles you, I believe I can revert the wand to its original nature. I will need the permission of the wand handler."

"Yes! Certainly!" Newt exclaimed. He only wished he thought about it sooner. If he had only known it was the wand that the Sudanese girl trembled to see, or Credence… _If I had approached them without any magic, would they have trusted me?_ He would never know. "Please, remove it at once."

"Very well, then. If you would place your hand on the handle. This may be momentarily uncomfortable, but it will not damage the wand or your magic." Resting the tip of his own wand on the cursed wood, Garrick instructed, "Now, as I recant the change, you must consciously agree that you wish for the wand to revert to its true nature. You must be in complete agreement with it, Scamander, or it will convult itself into something that you do not understand, and it may in turn reject you."

"I agree to the change," Newt said hastily. _Whatever it was that I lost, I'm sorry, and I'll make it right._

Garrick studied him and nodded once. "Yes, I believe you do." Looking down at the wand, he commanded, "Return to the purpose for which you were created. Reforge your true nature."

Invisible flames gripped Newt's hand for a moment, melding it to the wand. Rather than pain, a sense of rightness flowed up his arm. Something in his soul linked to the magic and in his mind he saw the corruptness ebb away.

"Mister Scamander, I have seen children inherit familial wands burdened with murder and cruelty," Garrick said, observing him closely, "And I have never seen a more willing transformation. Whatever they say of you among the aurors these days, you truly are a man of peace."

Swallowing against an emotion he couldn't understand, for such days were in the past and Theseus no longer cared whether or not he was deemed a hero by the upper circles, Newt nodded jerkily and reached for his wand. Picket swung down to inspect it, poking it curiously. It felt suitable and right in his hand.

"There are dark days ahead," Garrick Olivander warned him somberly. "Your encounter with Grindelwald will not be the last. You will need others to fight alongside you now." Looking at the ancient clock on the wall, passed down through as many generations of wandmakers as had owned this shop, he said lightly, "For the moment, however, better hurry along. Train's due at any moment. Someone was looking for you."


	25. Epilogue

_There is a station that doesn't exist. A platform called 9 ¾. Although he has nowhere to go, and the train will never return for him again, he waits in the light drizzle until all of the relatives and well-wishers have left. In his hand is a letter. Crumpled, scratched through in places, running with ink in others, it is a testament to all that he remembers. A controversy of loss and appreciation. The deepest affection carrying him through his darkest night. He hasn't come here for years, but he knows that he won't leave the station alone. Someone has been waiting for him all along._

 _He can imagine the impatient one leaning against the wall, just out of sight. Suit rumpled with haste, wand still in hand, as though he's just apparated from his office rather than paced the long hours until the clock struck. He'll be tossing his watch, rocking back on his heels, as though he's stood for mere moments. As though he hadn't left everything on his desk and ran the moment the letter appeared in his fireplace._

 _At last a figure detaches from the gloom three columns down. Dark hair and dark suit, he rather melds into the rain. His tread is light and unhurried, but he is indeed swinging a pocket watch, whirling his energy and impatience into that thin chain. His stature is confident but his eyes search the platform, reflecting the fear that only the one who wrote to him will understand. Perhaps he shall find himself alone this morning after all. Perhaps one could not be bothered to wait on the brink of hope and disillusion. Perhaps fear has driven one to leave while he may, lest the ceaseless pursuit run him down today. Perhaps.… Perhaps... Perhaps…._

 _For all of his swagger and boasts, the one who approaches is truly an indecisive man._

 _He saves him from further uncertainty by stepping away from the column. A slight movement jars the unruffled air, and he imagines that he must look a sight. One simply cannot understand the cheer of a bright coat on a cold and bleak morning. He smiles anyways, remembering why he is here, and the rigid shoulders relax._

 _"I wasn't sure you would be here," the older one comments._

 _There. The truth is out. He was expected, but the elder dared not dream. Seventeen years is a long time to grasp for hope, but some siblings are notoriously clingy._

 _There's nothing to be said that hasn't already been written, and the words would stick inside of his throat anyways. He holds out the letter in reply. The dark eyes settle on it, wondering, and he inclines his head enough to indicate that it is meant to be read, but not here._

 _The message is understood. Wordlessly the elder takes it, tucking it into his inner coat pocket where nothing is ever lost. He tosses something in his hand, a bit sheepish if that is possible for him, and offers it in exchange. "For old time's sake."_

 _It's nothing extravagant, or even suitable for someone his age, but he blinks anyways and tells himself that it is only the rain. Popping open the blue pentagon, he snatches up the wayward frog and lets it wriggle for a moment. It's almost too memorable to consume, but it only has one good hop in it and there's a childhood fable that the chocolate tastes better while it's still squirming._

 _"They put cards in the packs now," the dark one comments, snatching up the box as though it's his right as the eldest to claim first dibs. "I've started a collection. Davey still thinks he can buy Beatrix Bloxom off of me - as though anyone would want to commemorate that sordid story-teller."_

 _He can't answer now, not without looking like a clumsy second-year with chocolate staining his teeth, but he nods and tries not to splutter as his brother speaks so avidly of an author who plagued both of their childhoods. So much has changed since then. He wishes he could sum all of it into one letter, but words alone cannot express a flood of grateful enlightenment. He knows that the letter will be read tonight, savored in the light of a warm hearth, with a loving wife bending over the dark shoulder as she recounts his days of trial. Every word will pondered and cherished, and so he took great care to express only what was intended. There will be no **perhaps** in this letter. Everything is written as it should be._

 _For now the message is tucked away, and the elder can jabber about all of his everythings and nothings. No longer must he choose his moments in which to speak, forced to judge what is most imperative for its time, for there are years ahead of them. Afternoon teas and suppers, evenings in the sitting room, morning jaunts to a platform that doesn't exist. One day he shall introduce a beautiful woman as though he's never set eyes on her before, and he need not fear for the elder's approval. After all, he was never difficult to please - he simply didn't know how to express that delight. For a Hufflepuff is like a badger: to prove its affection it must pursue and capture and hold on tightly until the struggle fades, and this one now understands that he shall never be released and never turned away. He has been running for all of his life, fearful of a dragon that existed only in his own doubts._

 _It's time to put that boggart back in the cupboard._

 _Laughing, letting it burst forth for no reason other than that he is happy and the dark one looks foolish with his damp hair sticking on end, he picks up his case and allows the elder to lead the way. He has no plans for the day: his brother has already meticulously thought out every minute of it, and he anticipates that it shall be wasted on trivial nonsense like sweet shops and sniggering over the latest attempts at ladies' fashion. For one day the office shall be neglected and the aurors shall wait impatiently for their leader to return, and for one day they shall be forced to bumble on their own. He could ask for this every day and he knows that he would be spared the time._

 _But for this morning, a few hours will be enough. They walk along together, shoulders bumping occasionally, wet and rumpled like two badger pups scampering about in the drizzle. One day they shall stand together like this against Grindelwald, when all else fails and they alone remain to fight. Perhaps that day is long down the path. Perhaps it will never come. Perhaps a day will arrive when one of them will wait at the station alone, and the rain will grieve with him._

 _Yet for now he is wanted and captured and loved, and he will not make himself suffer twice. He pushes aside his worries and listens to his brother's voice, letting it soothe him like the patter of a thunderstorm. One morning excursion cannot eradicate years of silence, but it is a start. There are many days ahead to heal their scars._

 _They walk along together as the sun peeks over the clouds, casting trails of gold in every puddle and gutter. Every sunbeam is a whisper of hope; every raindrop a symbol of perseverance. There will never be a wakeful day when all is glorious and bright, for such periods of childhood have passed them both by. For this moment, however, he is at peace._

 _This is all he ever wanted._

* * *

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 _End_

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 **Thank you to all of my faithful reviewers, and again to John Smith for inspiring this lovely fic. I never imagined I could write something in the magical Hogwarts atmosphere, and I'm very happy with the results. Cheers, y'all!**


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